


What Inheritance Is

by die_traumerei



Series: Castle Terra [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Body Worship, Caretaking, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Disabled Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Estrangement, F/F, Family, Family Feels, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Foot Fetish, Grief/Mourning, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Loss of Parent(s), Love, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Trans Female Character, Transphobia, Travel, transwoman crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28772673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: After a difficult year of bad weather and famine, Crowley and Aziraphale are starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Bad news rears its head, though, when news comes of the deaths of Crowley's parents -- and her cousin, set to ascend the throne that she's been disowned from, wants to meet her.So begins the journey she and Aziraphale take back to the kingdom she was born in, and the things they do there. A little adventure, a lot of worries, and a mix of emotions; they've never needed each other quite like this before.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Castle Terra [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801759
Comments: 60
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whooo, middle-aged Aziraphale and Crowley! This story is set about 20 years after they meet, when they're both in their mid-fifties and have a long-established marriage. (I'll definitely go back and write stuff set when they're younger, too, promise! But this seemed like a neat place to settle for awhile.) If this is your first introduction to my Castle Terra stories...I don't know that I'd start with this one? I'd really recommend at least reading the first story in the series to get an idea of what's what in this AU.
> 
> I'm not super-sure of how often this will update (~once a week?) or even if all the chapters will be this long (probably not). I promise I have the story sketched out in my head, though, and it will update!
> 
> A *whole* bunch of content warnings!
> 
> \- The first part of this chapter has an extended scene where the two of them undress each other, and Crowley specifically worships Aziraphale's feet and legs. If foot stuff ooks you out, you'll probably want to skip over from where they start undressing each other to 'She helped Aziraphale out of the shift'.  
> \- The story is set at the end of a year of famine, so there's some discussion about food, and getting enough to eat. Aziraphale has lost weight, and while not thin, exactly, is definitely thinner than she has been before, which leads to complex (but mostly unhappy) feelings about the changes in her body.  
> \- Finally, the story *is* about Crowley losing her estranged parents. She has a lot of complicated feelings about it, and mourning and grief and anger -- or lack of mourning and grief -- is a major theme of the story, along with tons of Family Feelings. Please be gentle with yourself, if this is something you simply Can't with right now. Please don't feel bad about skipping this one, if you even think it will cause you pain.
> 
> Tags will update as needed!

Aziraphale led the way up the stone staircase, her long gown trailing behind her, just above the cold stones. The silk whispered as she walked, and she held a candle in one hand and the front of her skirts in the other – or so Crowley assumed, for she was a few steps behind. The entire castle ate together, here at the end of the winter of a famine year. To make it easier on the servants, to somehow stretch the food longer, to have some kind of joy during mealtimes. There was none of the formality of the Christmas feast – Crowley and Aziraphale sat together, even shared a wineglass.

(Although Aziraphale had threatened to go sit elsewhere, if Crowley kept sneaking bits from her own plate onto Aziraphale's. Crowley accepted that she needed to eat, but Aziraphale needed it more, she maintained. So she promised to stop and planned to just get sneakier at it.)

But now supper was over, and it had been less meagre than before. For it was spring now, and the hens were laying again, and farmers were sowing their fields. Crowley knew the castle had taken almost nothing in tithe at Christmas, had sat by Aziraphale while she totalled up the symbolic gestures (a pound of wheat, or a single hen, or a single hen's egg from those who were in the direst straits), and when no one but Crowley could see, had cried at what that meant both for the castle's stores and for those who could barely spare such a scant tax.

There had been enough, though, and not one of their tenants had died, though some of the children were very small and sickly. Crowley knew because she had played with them and cuddled them and snuck them a little maple candy when their parents brought them to the physician. He had done what he could, and she had done what _she_ could, mostly making them giggle and wrapping them up in warm things to bear the winter a little more easily. She would keep an eye on them over the years, she knew. Make sure they had medicines and better food and some kind of work, if they weren't able to keep a farm. 

But spring was here, and the promise of new life, and Crowley hurried up the stairs after her wife, for they had all evening to themselves and Aziraphale had promised her a treat. They went to the Library; not as warm as Crowley's apartments, but they'd kept a fire going all day and the weather had helped, so it was comfortable even by Aziraphale's little bed. She always slept better in the Library, especially these days, and Crowley hardly minded cuddling together in the narrow bed.

They let themselves into the vast, familiar space, and Aziraphale gently locked the Library door behind her. Her gown was older, a cut she didn't wear as often anymore, with loose sleeves and a simple construction. The deep blue silk almost faded into the darkness of the room, but gold embroidery at cuffs and neckline glinted in the candlelight, and Crowley's heart softened. HeIsr wife was so lovely, she couldn't held but catch her free hand, draw her close and kiss, the silk rustling against her own frame.

“Oh, love.” Aziraphale rested her head on Crowley's shoulder, and Crowley pressed a kiss to her hair. More silver than gilt now, and all the more beautiful for it, she thought, back in a simple, loose braid. Aziraphale felt too small in her arms, but that would change with time; she'd spend all summer and autumn getting cake into her lass as often as she could, big suppers and all her favourite foods. Aziraphale's eyes had started to dull, and it had been terrifying, but she was her sparkling self again with the end of winter.

“I love you,” Crowley murmured, and tilted her girl's head up for a kiss. Over fifty, and still Crowley's girl, forever.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Aziraphale nosed Crowley's shoulder, and kissed her neck. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Crowley assured her. She had been...not weak, exactly. But tired. Slow to move, slow to do anything that wasn't a quiet activity in her own rooms. She walked in the gardens, rather than roaming the countryside, but that would return too. Her body hadn't changed much – there wasn't really weight on her to _lose_ – but her hair had started to fall out, and it had made Aziraphale tighten her lips and make her special teas, and hold her whenever they were both still.

God, what an awful year it had been. But they were emerging, Crowley reminded herself as they kissed. Aziraphale's eyes sparkled, and Crowley had some of her old energy back, and it was spring now.

Aziraphale smiled. “Will you undress me? And not hurry about it?”

Crowley laughed and dotted kisses on her face. “With pleasure! Come on, love, onto the bed with you. You're to lie there and be easy, let me do all the work. Not that undressing you is work. You know what I mean.”

Aziraphale giggled, and led them through the dark room to her little bedroom, unchanged in the nearly two decades since she'd come to Terra. Crowley had often wondered what that first night had been like for her. Had she been frightened? Sad? She had been such a frightened woman when they met, still recovering from the years of abuse at Heaven's Court. Had there been any comfort at all in this strange new place?

(Years ago, Crowley had tentatively asked her what that first night had been like. “I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. It's a long journey from the Guild to here,” Aziraphale explained, and Crowley felt a little like a dumbass. Of course she'd mostly been  _tired_ . But then Aziraphale had cuddled her and kissed her and they'd experimented with lots of wonderful things to do in a bed, so it had been all right in the end.)

They lit more candles, making the tiny room glow, and Aziraphale lay down on the soft bed, draping herself over mussed quilts and duvets and pillows, and gazed up at Crowley.

“Beauty,” Crowley said, just drinking her in for a moment. Because she was, _always_ Crowley's beauty. Middle age suited Aziraphale, gave her an added softness, and the smile-lines around her eyes and mouth always made something in Crowley glow. She was _comfortable_ ; that was it. At home in her body and loved for herself, and it showed on all the lines of her.

Crowley started with her belt, a simple bit of fabric that held her chatelaine, which was set carefully on the bedside table until tomorrow. Next, she rolled Aziraphale onto her side, pleased that she was pliant but clearly not about to help. Good. This was Crowley's entire duty and joy.

She undid the hooks that held the gown closed, freeing each one with a little flick of her wrist and revealing a pretty, embroidered set of jumps. Aziraphale almost never wore corsets anymore; often they rubbed in ways that hurt, that not even the best corsetiere could entirely do away with. But she had taken to wearing soft jumps in preference to nothing; she said they supported her belly and back and bosom. Crowley, who of course was still flat as could be and corseted most days to boot, was gently fascinated by watching her wife's body change with age, her breasts grow a little heavier and change shape. She bought Aziraphale beautiful fabric, and had her own corsetiere make the soft, binding garments so they would best fit her own love. Aziraphale embroidered any that were made of simpler weaves, and thus she was always dressed in beauty.

Crowley eased her onto her back again and undid the tiny buttons at her cuffs, finally pulling the big gown off of her; the hooks had gone down below her waist, so it was easy enough to pull off the bodice, and then slip the silk over Aziraphale's hips and off of her. She hung it carefully to air, patting the silk smooth. It was a warm, light gown, and she loved it, like she loved all of Aziraphale's clothes. No new gowns this year, but they were hardly sad over the sacrifice. What was taken from them could have been so much bigger, after all, could have been...well, no use dwelling on that.

Next was Aziraphale's jumps, and Crowley unlaced the soft, simple garment, pulling the cord through the eyelets in front, checking them over carefully in case there was need of mending. But of course they were under less pressure these days, and the soft stays came off and were also set aside to air out, leaving Aziraphale in just her shift – and, of course, her shoes and stockings.

Not that every other bit wasn't fun in its own way, but, well. Crowley had a  _thing_ for Aziraphale's legs! You could hardly blame her, her lady's thick thighs and delicate ankles and well-formed feet would give a priest a fetish, and Crowley was about as far from a priest as you could get.

Aziraphale laughed at the look on her face and held out her arms. “All for you,” she teased, and Crowley flopped purposely onto her and kissed her extravagantly even as she lay  _between those legs_ . Show Aziraphale a thing or two!

“You know just how to treat me,” she said happily, and nuzzled Aziraphale's throat. “D'you want anything in particular while I'm down there.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “To be worshipped, please. You don't need to ignore my cunny, but I don't need to come. I want to see you be in awe of my body, please.”

Crowley emitted a high-pitched sound of glee. Best of wives, and the best of days! To take her time and linger and kiss and caress and oooh!

Aziraphale giggled again, and cupped Crowley's cheek in one hand. “I love you so,” she said warmly. “I love you more than I can say. My body's a little strange to me after that winter – will you help me feel at home in it again?”

“Oh, my angel...” Crowley was gentler this time, pressing the softest kisses imaginable to Aziraphale's cheek and jaw and throat. “I love you, I love you so much. Of course. I love your body, I'll do anything to help you feel right in it again.”

“Then stop sneaking me half your dinner roll,” Aziraphale scolded, but she was smiling, so Crowley simply kissed her a half-dozen times.

She sat up finally, and pushed Aziraphale's shift up to her waist. Of course she had to pause and kiss the wiry hair of her mound and slip her tongue in, lapping at Aziraphale's clit. Just a friendly hello and all, tasting and savouring and ending with a kiss to the fat little thing, loving it plenty. But the focus tonight was less on orgasm, and more on, well.  _Worship_ .

Crowley eased Aziraphale back, making sure she was comfortable and well-supported with pillows and a rolled-up duvet, and gently spread her legs. First to come off were her shoes – boots, really, fur-lined and warm, suitable for a cold winter in a castle. Crowley unlaced them and eased them off, squeezing Aziraphale's feet and giving a tiny massage through her stockings as first one, then the other foot was revealed. She leaned over and kissed each instep, then the bend of Aziraphale's ankle one-two.

She just gazed for a moment, planning her attack, and decided to start on Aziraphale's right side. She undid the pretty garter, and pulled her stocking down a few inches. They were fine white silk, a gift from Crowley – warm and soft against the last of winter's chill.

She kissed the hot crease of Aziraphale's hip, warm and soft under her lips, and roamed her mouth over the swell of thigh. Not as strong as the height of summer; there were a lot of hikes and rides and hunts that would come so that thick, strong muscle would hum under Crowley's lips again. And a lot of cakes and dinners and nibbles so that soft fat would be replenished, and the little dimples it gave her. She nuzzled the tracery of spider veins, and bit gently at the impossibly soft skin of Aziraphale's inner thigh, laving with her tongue right after and enjoying Aziraphale's low moan. She was moaning a fair bit herself, overcome with the deliciousness of her girl.

Crowley rubbed and kissed and caressed her way down to Aziraphale's knee, pulling the stocking a little lower and nuzzling the joint. She lifted Aziraphale's leg a tiny bit, just to watch it move, the fine way the skin and muscle and ligaments worked. More kisses and nuzzles, and gently settling the leg again to lower the stocking even more.

Aziraphale's calves were sparsely covered with pale, wiry hair, and Crowley paid them particular attention, massaging the thick muscles and kissing her shin, lingering over a bruise from an errant chair, soothing any tension from the day. This led her to Aziraphale's ankle; a little puffy still, but sweet and well-made. Poor dove; she'd gone down hard while coming back from ice-skating just that past January. (Not even ice-skating itself, Aziraphale complained loudly. On a walk! Within sight of the castle!) They'd feared her ankle broken at first, it was that swollen and it hurt that badly, and she had spent some days confined to bed, a little frightened. But a week later she'd been walking about well enough with crutches, and a week after that had been back to her old self, just a soft wrapping to keep the swelling down. It had long seemed that Aziraphale was doomed to sprain this ankle in particular quite regularly, and they had best accept it. She wore boots instead of low slippers most of the time now, and there was a colourfully-painted pair of crutches stored in readiness, to say nothing of Crowley's plans for stories to pass the time on the days her wife had to stay abed, her ankle propped up and iced.

But all was well now, and Crowley kissed and caressed the poor joint, loving the way soft skin stretched over fine bones, the way it led down to her wife's pretty feet. For she had  _very_ pretty feet, narrow and sweet with cute toes, a high instep, and just – ugh. All right, she had a fetish, but Crowley firmly believe no one could blame her, look who she was  _married_ to!

She massaged Aziraphale's foot, easing the tension and soothing any soreness, and kissed and caressed until she felt she'd done proper worship to her beloved's body. Besides, she still had a whole other leg, and this one required extra love.

For it was the leg that had been hurt so very long ago. The familiar scar that curved from Aziraphale's side over her belly and deep, deep over her hip, slashing down to her thigh. The muscle here was odd, the great weal cutting it deep. Her belly had an extra fold, which Crowley thought was the cutest thing she could possibly imagine. Aziraphale's femur and pelvis and the hip joint had been damaged and could only ever heal so much; the same for muscle and nerves, and Crowley carefully tamed what could have been a frenzy of worship to gentle kisses and touches, looking up to check that this was all right. That it wouldn't hurt to worship her wife's resilience, her will to live and survive when she was cut down, dying in the mud, recovering slowly in hospital and then in her beloved foster-mother's home. Still recovering; still doing stretches and exercises to try and keep her strength and flexibility a little bit longer.

Aziraphale smiled at her, though. The scar meant pain and deep sorrow to her, on top of what Crowley saw in it, but today was all right. Today was a day for worship and love, and it wouldn't hurt Aziraphale to have this part of her adored.

“I love you for living,” Crowley murmured, and bent her head, and kissed across hip and thigh to soft, unmarked skin. To the muscle and bone that hadn't needed to heal, and had in fact taken on more than their fair share, to help her lass adjust and walk again, and run and ride and hike and all the things she loved to do. (Most of all to curl up by a fire with a book, and Crowley was glad that no matter what, this greatest love would always be there for her Aziraphale.)

She kissed to the top of Aziraphale's stocking and untied that garter, and followed a similar trail, nuzzling to the end of the scar, loving and adoring the soft skin, still a little dimpled, even thus diminished by the hard year. She dotted little kisses to Aziraphale's knee, and revealed her thick calf, massaging the muscle there; Aziraphale's hip injury radiated over her body, affected her back and shoulder and calf, and Crowley was mindful, tender, and soothing all at once.

And then the bend of her pretty ankle; it was so funny, the way she only ever sprained her right one, and this one was untouched by injury. Soft kisses to the fine bones and the instep as Crowley so gently revealed her foot, easing it with massage, rubbing warmth into the toes of both feet and giggling, kissing her lady-wife's feet until Aziraphale laughed from the tickling.

A few more soft kisses and squeezes, more kisses to ankles and knees and thighs and one laid to where those magnificent legs met, a lingering kiss to Aziraphale's softest and most secret part of her, and the worship was done – for the moment, anyway.

She helped Aziraphale out of the shift and into a warm woollen nightgown, and tucked her firmly into bed to keep warm. It took a few minutes to get herself out of her own clothes and into a nightgown, but soon she was snuggled up next to Aziraphale again. A bit early yet to go to bed, but easy enough to hold each other and kiss and enjoy the soft candlelight in the night.

“Shall I do your hair?” Aziraphale asked after they'd had their fill of kisses, and Crowley shifted and wriggled around so she sat between Aziraphale's legs, and her lady could let her hair down. She wore gentler braids and simpler styles now, trying not to put too much strain on her hair. And when the first clump had come away in her hand, Aziraphale had cut her hair short, just below her shoulder blades, and she'd wept for losing something that made her a woman, and her great beauty.

There had been a day of being held and petted and decorated with jewels after that, and Crowley had felt like the worst baby until Aziraphale had told her to stop being silly, there were all kinds of ways to guard her health, and being at home in her body was one of them. Her hair would grow out again in time, and now it was coming in as white streaked with red, instead of the other way 'round.

Aziraphale finger-combed the curls gently, but Crowley's hair seemed to have stopped falling out, so that was all right. A soft braid to match her wife's, and Aziraphale lay back, still bracketing Crowley with her body.

“I was thinking,” she said, “we might be able to get away to our little house for a proper holiday this summer.”

Crowley gave a happy wiggle – for she'd picked that up from Aziraphale over the years too. “Oh, yes, absolutely. We ought to have a good long one, really enjoy ourselves.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed her cheek. “You've earned it, love.”

“And you,” Crowley said, patting Aziraphale's leg. “I mean, honestly, we both have.”

Aziraphale laughed and gave her a little hug. “We'll hike out soon and see if there's repairs needed.” Maybe not that soon – give Crowley some time to get her energy back. But soon enough. Her wife was warm and solid in her arms, and Aziraphale was glad to hold her, cradle her and feel her weight like this. She had begun to worry so much, but things were better now.

They talked of this and that, and made plans for writing to friends. Crowley teased her with a new story about Eleanor and Yvaine, for even all these years later she was coming up with new tales about them; mostly how they made love, but also great adventures – and the long recuperations after the adventure, most of the time. (Yvaine had broken her ankle in solidarity about the time Aziraphale sprained hers, and was just now back on her feet after a spate of tender nursing. Crowley had decided it was time for them to go on a long journey to rescue a woman who looked not unlike Asha. Or maybe Elsie. Or maybe two women.)

After Aziraphale had confirmed that no, she did not mind a fictional foursome in the least, well, the die was cast and Crowley knew where the story was going. Later; just now she wanted to rest in her wife's arms, Aziraphale's fingertips tracing the scar on her cheek. She felt soft and fragile and very loved.

“I never told you how I got that scar, did I?” she asked quietly.

“No, my love,” Aziraphale said. And that was all she said – patient and quiet. Not always things Aziraphale was very good at it – well, the patient bit – but she had never, ever pressed to learn what the scar was, why it was so odd and dark.

“I was really little,” Crowley said. “Well, maybe not that little. Ten or so. A child.”

“Oh, love,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley was quiet a long time.

“I'm sorry,” she finally said. “It's really...I'm sorry.”

“You don't owe me an explanation,” Aziraphale said gently. “Nor an apology. Poor demoness, you deserved so much better.”

Crowley smiled a little and turned, curling up against Aziraphale's body, head on her chest. “Did I?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, in a tone utterly sure and confident. “You deserved to be loved and cuddled and allowed to be who you are. You should have been let to run wild. I know you by now, Princess Crowley – you _definitely_ ought to have been scolded when you escaped your tutors, but they should have helped you read, too, or read to you. And then loved and petted and been adored, an only child and heir to the throne, the best Queen any people could ask for.”

Crowley laughed softly, and got her arms around Aziraphale. “But if I'd stayed, and been queen, we never would have met.”

“Oh yes we would have. We're fated, my lass. I was born to do a lot of things, and loving you is one of them,” Aziraphale said confidently. “Were you Queen of Annwn – or Princess – that's where I'd be sent, I'm certain of it. And we would have fallen in love.”

Crowley relaxed in her arms, heavy and sweet. “Oh, I like that. That's all right then. Maybe it'd be the first place you were sent. Never to Heaven's Court. Straight to Annwn, and my love.”

“I like that too, sweetheart. Are you drifting off? No, of course that's fine, silly woman. Let me just blow out the candles...” Aziraphale slipped out of bed and put out all the candles but the one by the bedside. She wanted to stay up a little, ease Crowley off to sleep, and perhaps read a little. And keep an eye on her sweetheart, who had instantly crawled back into her arms, head pillowed on her chest. Aziraphale consciously slowed her breathing and started to stroke Crowley's back, up and down, up and down, helping her ease off to sweet dreams.

Spring continued to inch on, each day a little bit longer, with a little bit more food on the table and greater warmth in the air. The two of them went out walking in the nascent gardens when it was nice, and stayed in when it rained. Aziraphale had her duties as Librarian, of course, and Crowley slowly grew more interested in the world. She found the energy to warp one of her smaller looms and began to work on a pretty scarf, a gift for one of her friends. Elsie, perhaps; she was speaking about coming to visit Asha, and of course she and Aziraphale would go to see them both.

It was still the early, pastel days of the season when apple blossoms were just barely starting to perfume the air, when a messenger arrived. There wasn't much terribly unusual in that – with dozens of kingdoms, messages flew like snow just to get basic agreements done. The summoning of Aziraphale to the King's chambers wasn't even that unusual; she often helped with record-keeping, or advising. The summoning of Crowley at the same time  _was_ unusual though; especially as she was told to look royal.

“I don't have a good feeling about this,” Crowley said as she sat at her vanity, and Aziraphale pinned her small crown in place for her.

“I don't like to say it, but neither do I,” Aziraphale admitted. “What on earth could concern both of us, that isn't a personal letter? If one of our friends was ill, or hurt, there wouldn't be a messenger, not like this.”

Crowley sighed, and touched up her mascara. Her curls were particularly curly when her hair was this short, which was...nice? She'd look proper, at least, in a long black gown. Aziraphale, of course, wore her fillet and a simple gown, appropriate as formal Maestra Librarian wear. “I don't like it.”

“Me either.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's shoulders. “I love you. We should go now.”

Crowley bit her lip and stood, taking Aziraphale's arm and letting her wife essentially escort her to the royal quarters.

The interesting thing about dealing with the royal family of Terra, Aziraphale had learned, is that they were so casual amongst themselves, any formality was usually intended to send a message. Or quite a number of messages. She could read the tea leaves well after all these years, and so could draw some conclusions as she and Crowley were lead into the King's private salon, to join the King, Queen and Prince Adam, nearly grown and learning the ways of leading a kingdom at his father's side. There was no one else, not the Chancellor nor any of the royal advisors, or even a servant. So it was a family affair, but quite an important one.

She and Crowley settled on a small sofa with nods to the royal family, and a moment later, a young man with dark, curly hair was shown in. He bowed to all of them and introduced himself as a messenger from Annwn.

Aziraphale tensed and reached for Crowley's hand, just as Crowley reached for hers, and mentally pruned her list of possibilities down. This wasn't a distant aunt coming for a visit.

“Your Majesties. I bear sad news. The king and queen of Annwn have passed away, within a day of one another. An illness swept the castle, and nothing could be done. Prince Lucifer is to ascend the throne.”

Thank God he had got to the point – Aziraphale could have kissed him. No wondering, no fluttery stupid language, just the plain truth and Crowley squeezing her hand so hard it hurt, not like Aziraphale would show that. Crowley could squeeze as she liked, her poor love.

The king startled – but of course, that was his sister who had died, and never mind that they were estranged. The queen and Adam exchanged glances, but Aziraphale and Crowley sat frozen, waiting for what might come next.

“Sad news indeed,” Prince Adam said, after his father had nodded. “I am sorry for Annwn's loss, especially of the both of them. We will send the official statement, of course, but please accept my family's condolences.”

“There is a request,” the man said. “From Prince Lucifer. He asks to meet with the Princess Crowley. In Castle Annwn.”

Was there a pause before 'princess'? Aziraphale thought she might have heard it, for just a fraction of a second.

This time the queen started, and the king frowned. “They are cousins, of course,” the king said. “But it is her decision, not ours.”

“I'll go,” Crowley said, in a raw voice. She paused, and breathed deeply, and Aziraphale rubbed her thumb over Crowley's knuckle. “I will go and meet with my cousin. My wife will accompany me.”

Aziraphale gave the boy a beady stare, but he had either been warned ahead of time, or was good at his job, as he didn't even blink. “Of course,” he said graciously. “Annwn's royal family is eager to welcome you, Princess.”

“What a shame it must be under such circumstances,” Crowley said blandly. “We shall need a few days to pack, so I expect you will beat us back.”

“You must take the carriage,” the Queen told her. “The heavy one, for winter travel. Have you other messages?” This to the man.

The young man shook his head and bowed. “I shall, of course, carry back any written replies.”

Aziraphale managed to make eye contact with everyone in the room except for Crowley at the same time. She  _could_ act as scribe, but her wife needed her; the official secretary really ought to handle such things anyway, and would, as agreed by silent communication.

“Indeed,” the Queen said smoothly. “There is no need for you to set out again without rest and food, though. You shall spend the night – please see to the servants outside the door, and they will take care of you.”

The messenger bowed and left, closing the door softly but firmly behind him. As soon as she heard it click, Aziraphale turned, putting her arms around Crowley who, for the first time – shrank away from her. Pulled away, stood, trembling, and Aziraphale's heart ached. She tried not to be hurt – this was how Crowley mourned, and she had a right to it.

“My dearest.” The Queen rose and took Crowley's hands. “Good God, you're white as a sheet. Aziraphale, love, fix us all a drink?”

Oh bless her, giving her something to do, and Adam came to help as Aziraphale went over to the drinks cupboard, giving Crowley and the King and Queen some privacy.

“You never met them, did you?” she whispered, too soft to be overheard.

“No, never,” Adam whispered back. “Stories, of course.”

Aziraphale nodded, and they didn't  _precisely_ linger, but they certainly didn't hurry. It was right to give those who'd known Crowley's parents time to be together in the first shock of mourning.

They couldn't disseminate forever, though, and soon Aziraphale had the drinks on a tray, carrying them over to where they had heard the news. The king was seated, and she handed him a glass quietly, trying to simply...help. That was what she could do – ensure food and drink, keep body and soul together under the crash of emotions.

She turned away to find Crowley with a glass already in her hand and reaching out, pulling Aziraphale into an embrace, warm and close. Aziraphale hugged her tenderly, rubbed her back and kissed her neck.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley whispered. “That I pulled away.”

“Shush. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Aziraphale whispered back. “I love you, I love you, I love you with all my heart. My darling, I am yours now more than ever.”

Crowley nodded and hid her face in Aziraphale's shoulder for a moment, before letting her go just enough to get her own drink. Aziraphale kept a hand on Crowley's waist, not missing that she was still trembling, and kissed her shoulder before taking a generous swallow.

“My dear, do you really want to go?” the Queen asked gently. “You are under no obligation whatsoever.”

“...want is perhaps not the word,” Crowley admitted. “But I have been invited. I'm clearly no longer exiled. I am...curious.” She turned to Aziraphale, and gave her a little smile. “I'm sorry, I just volunteered you to come along with me.”

“Of course I'll come with you!” Aziraphale said. “I'm your wife, just as you said.”

“I can't do it alone,” Crowley said simply, and Aziraphale pressed ever closer, half-leading Crowley to sit, to rest, perhaps to ease her trembling.

“You aren't,” the Queen said firmly. “You carry our love with you. When do you want to go?”

Crowley sighed. “I don't know...what would be appropriate?”

Aziraphale was thinking fast. “Three days,” she said. “That will put us in Annwn after the burial, but before Lucifer's ascension to the throne.”

The King nodded. “He wants to make sure you're not going to try to depose him, by the way. I mean, he may have other reasons, but that's first in his mind.”

“What on earth?” Crowley asked, dumbfounded. “ _Why_? I don't even _want_ to be Queen.”

“No,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “But it's happened before. Oh, I wish I knew that history better – three generations back?”

“Precisely,” the King said.

“Several times, I suspect,” the Queen said dryly. “We are not a peaceable family, Crowley-love.”

Crowley snorted. “Well, I can put his mind to rest for that at least.”

“He wants to know who you are,” Aziraphale said. “He was a baby when you were...exiled. Quite small, anyway. You're a story to him, possibly a frightening one. He's likely _curious_ ,” she said slowly, realization dawning. “I mean, there's obviously political implications, and he wants to know how much of an ally he has in Terra, and in you in particular, and how much of the King's ear you have. But I bet he's also just really, really bloody _curious_ about the cousin who was sent away because of who she is, thus clearing his path to the throne.”

“I hope he likes disappointment,” Crowley said dryly, and Aziraphale made a little _tch_ sound, and held Crowley a little closer. This was going to be hard. Important, but hard, and she would need to be strong for her wife.

Adam quietly arranged for tea – they had plenty of that, at least, even if there weren't yet biscuits or sandwiches to accompany it – and together he and Aziraphale kept their family in hot, comforting drinks.

“Chae should know,” Aziraphale said quietly to Adam, as they filled the kettle again. “Who else is from Annwn?”

“I think just him,” Adam said after a pause. “But he'll know for sure, in case there's someone new.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I can tell him, he'll likely be in his rooms now. It's...” she shook her head. “Later afternoon, right?”

Adam smiled. “Right, Aziraphale. Go and tell him, I'll keep an eye on Crowley.”

“Bless you,” she said, and went over to the royal family, kneeling before Crowley. She was cuddled up with the Queen – good.

“Love, I'm going to let Chae know what happened,” she said softly, hand on Crowley's knee. “Is there anyone else who should know?”

“Avis, in the kitchens,” Crowley said after a pause. “She's new, you may not have met her.”

“But you did, when bribing someone for cakes?” Aziraphale teased, but Crowley only managed a ghost of a smile. “I'll take care of it all, you stay here, safe and sound.” She could arrange for their luggage to be brought out of storage, and oh, they'd have to prepare the carriage, to say nothing of mapping out their route. But she could do that tomorrow, just as easily.

The Queen smiled at her and tightened her arm around Crowley's too-thin shoulders. “Thank you, Aziraphale.”

“Of course, your majesty.” A little surprised at her own forwardness – even after all these years – Aziraphale rose, bent over, and hugged the Queen. “I'm sorry. I know it's complicated but – I'm sorry.”

“Thank you,” the Queen said quietly, and hugged her back. “Go and tell Chae, dearest.”

And give the family, those who had known the old king and queen, some privacy. She probably didn't even know she was asking that, but she was, and fair enough, too.

Aziraphale stole through the castle, glad she was eternally wrapped in a thick shawl these days; it was still icy in the stone corridors. She slipped through the familiar path to Chae's rooms, and knocked lightly on his door.

He opened it quickly – good, he was in, they could have a jot of privacy. And goodness, she must have looked awful, for his eyes widened and he stepped aside, ushering her in. “What's wrong?”

“Do I look that bad?” she asked, half-smiling. “Sit, darling. Crowley's fine, but we need to talk, I have news for you.”

Chae lead her over to the little sitting area by the fire, offered tea that was politely declined, and a drink that was frankly accepted, and soon sat across from her.

“I appreciate the reassurance about Crowley, by the way,” he said, and Aziraphale managed a true smile.

“I know what's important to us,” she said, and sighed. “She's...fine. Oh, Chae. A messenger arrived from Annwn. The king and queen are dead, of an illness that swept through the castle. Prince Lucifer is to ascend the throne. And he wants Crowley to visit.”

Chae let out a slow breath. “Bloody hell.”

“Um. Are condolences appropriate to offer?” Aziraphale asked. Chae had been raised at court, but he'd never gone back to visit the castle itself, just relatives in outlying towns. And he had come with Crowley when she was thrown out...

“No,” he said frankly. “They were cruel, cold people, who disowned their daughter because she wasn't a son. I won't be sending a wreath, you might say. How is Crowley?”

“In shock,” Aziraphale admitted. “Poor love. I expect she's feeling everything right now – the King and Queen and Adam are with her, of course.”

Chae smiled. “I didn't think you'd ditched her.”

“They knew the Annwn royals and I didn't,” Aziraphale admitted. “They're probably better, just now. Also, good, I don't feel bad for shaking you down for intel.”

“Shake away,” Chae said. “But I don't know how much I can tell you. I don't have any connections there anymore.”

“I do, though,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “I know the Maester there – not well, but I'll be able to talk to Eric as soon as I arrive. Bit expected of me, actually, and he knows Asha well, so we have that connection. Look, clearly Lucifer wants to make sure Crowley isn't going to try to reclaim the throne or some such nonsense. I think he's also just plain curious about her. What do you know of him?”

Chae tilted his head to one side. “He's Crowley's cousin on her da's side, thus the line of succession. About my age, a bit older than her. I didn't know him particularly, though he came to visit a few times. I'm sorry – Annwn is rather more...class-conscious than Terra is.”

“Bugger,” Aziraphale said. “Well, I have other ways of finding out.” She sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Can you give me a quick etiquette lesson? Since we have to be at court there and all.”

Chae smiled and topped her drink up. “That, I can do. It won't be anything too shocking to you, I think. They're not quite as harsh as Heaven's Court – I mean, no one is.”

Aziraphale snorted.

“Indeed. Look, I have no idea how Crowley will be treated, but let's assume she's given the due respect of her title, and your marriage is recognised,” Chae said, obviously thinking aloud. “Though of course on your own, you'll be given the respect of a Maestra Librarian, which puts you in that awkward 'not a royal, not a servant' category, so I hope you like hanging out with the governess, if there is one.”

Aziraphale snickered. “I promise to use the proper species of bird if I go hunting.”

Chae rolled his eyes. “Bow first, don't speak unless spoken to, but you don't need to, say, fall to your knees in Lucifer's presence. You'll likely be seated with Crowley at dinners, so don't worry about that. And with the Maester Librarian, if they pointedly opt to treat you as Crowley's friend.”

“Do you have a sense of how much the court will try to call her by her old name?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“I'd plan on it,” Chae said. “Lucifer will set the public tone, and it sounds like he's willing to call her by her, uh, girl name? And use the Princess honorific. Publicly, others will fall in line. Privately...well, you've met some of them.”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale made a sour face. “Perhaps we needn't stay long. The King and I honestly think he just wants to ensure there won't be a coup.”

“Fair enough. If I was Crowley, I'd burn the bloody place down.” Chae shrugged. “I'm sorry, Aziraphale, truly. I wish I could help more.”

“Darling, you're perfect,” Aziraphale told him. “You've given me a start, and made sure I won't disgrace myself at court, I can work out the rest.” She sighed and rubbed between her eyes. “I am so glad she had you, when she was a girl. And coming here.”

“Of course,” Chae said. “I love her. And I was glad to escape that place. Aziraphale...I don't want to tell stories that aren't mine. But they treated her like shit. They were so cruel to her, just _mean_ , cold, awful people. Not just her parents. I know I don't have to ask you to take care of her while you're there but – take care of her? She'll need you.”

“I will, I swear,” Aziraphale said. “And I can extract us without starting a war, if I need to. I won't let anyone hurt her again, not if I can help it.”

“I know.” Chae sighed. “I'm sorry. It's not going to be a nice time, right after you just had not a nice...year, I guess.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Not to be dramatic, but I've been through worse. I promise, I'll bring her home safe, Chae.”  
“Well, of course,” he said, and they finished their drinks in a comfortable, thoughtful silence. Aziraphale watched the fire, thinking about what little Crowley had told her. And thinking about Chae too – he was their family as well, the patchwork she'd assembled after she had lost her blood-family all those years ago. They hadn't been kind to him, either.

She took her leave when drinks were finished, promising to arrange for him to have some time with Crowley before they left. The next stop was the kitchen, to delicately deliver the news to Avis, who was polite but clearly didn't give a shit about a royal family she had never met nor actually interacted with in any way. Aziraphale wholly approved, and after a visit to Mrs Moonstone to arrange for their bags to be packed and the carriage readied, returned to the royal family's private quarters.

She found Crowley less in shock, calmer, and was able to report that all would be ready for their journey.

“Thank you,” Crowley said, and kissed her cheek, and took her hand, and Aziraphale didn't let go even through a private supper, and their walk back to Crowley's rooms.

Crowley let go once inside, but only long enough to let out a deep breath, turn, and hold out her arms. As though Aziraphale might not go straight into them, holding her poor love, her Crowley who had asked for none of this.

“Oh, darling,” she murmured, stroking Crowley's curls. “Love, little love. Let me draw you a bath, you need to rest and be loved.”

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said. “That I pulled away from you.”

“Never think on it again,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, that's the second time you've apologised for that. It's all right! It was always all right, you were in shock.”

“No, but.” Crowley shook her head. “I've never pulled away from you. Not from the moment we met, when you were hauling me out of the rain.” She started to cry. “I've always gone _to_ you, and this time I went _away_ from you and I love you, I love you, I do.”

“You are making yourself ill,” Aziraphale said, not without gentleness. “Crowley, beloved, it's _all right_. I know you love me better than I know anything else.”  
“But it makes me like _them_ ,” Crowley said, her voice cracking, “To pull away from someone I love. To push them away.”

“Shhh, shhh. You're nothing like them,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, honey. This isn't...some sign. This isn't a generational curse, or anything. You were in shock, and didn't want to be touched. That's not a sin. And here we are, you're in my arms and I love you so much. And I'm going to take care of you and help you, exactly like you take care of me, because you are my wife and we love each other, and nothing will ever change that.”

Crowley sniffled. “What if I decided I was a man, really?”

“I would love you,” Aziraphale said. “Might take a little adjusting on my side, but I would love you and live as your wife for all my days.”

“What if I wanted to be Queen of Annwn?”

“Crowley, why are you testing the bounds of my love?” Aziraphale asked gently. “You know it's boundless.”

Crowley just wept into her shoulder, so Aziraphale walked them over to the sofa, and held her properly, in her lap, arms about her and cradling her close.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said miserably. “Why am I treating you like this?”

“Because I'm safe to test,” Aziraphale said. “I've been there, love. I would appreciate _not_ being tested, but I will always remind you that I love you, and that you love me.”

Crowley nodded, a tiny bundle in Aziraphale's arms, somehow diminished. “I don't feel good.”

“I know, baby,” Aziraphale said, returning to stroking her hair. “I don't expect you to. May I take care of you?”

Crowley nodded, and hid her face in Aziraphale's neck, while Aziraphale planned. A bath – that would help calm her, and root her in her body again. A back rub, and her neck too, that was where Crowley held all her tension. Perhaps rubbing her bad arm, too, sometimes that helped, if it was aching. Get her into a warm nightgown and light a big fire in the bedroom, tuck her in. Tell her a story about Eleanor and Yvaine, maybe one of the ones  _she_ wrote. Hold her, and kiss her, and let her feel loved and safe, because soon she would be...less safe. Oh, damn the boy, what does he need to see her for?

Aziraphale planned all of this out carefully, then gathered Crowley securely in her arms and rose. She was so light Aziraphale could carry her all the way through her rooms, which Crowley seemed to notice sometime about the bedroom.

“Good lord,” she said, a ghost of her old self. “Everyone should marry a farm girl. Am I just a sheep to you?”

“Sheep are...louder, actually,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, and laughed when Crowley smiled. She settled her love down and started to draw a hot bath, pouring in sweet, lemon-scented oils. Oh, that would help too, that sharp, lovely citrus.

Next was undressing her, which Crowley was aware enough to help with, and then finally helping her into the steaming bath, where she settled with a grateful sigh, eyes already drifting shut as the warm water enveloped her body. “You are a literal angel.”

“That's not what you said last week when I was edging you,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley burst out laughing. It was the best sound she'd ever heard.

“God, I wish I could get horny,” Crowley said. “I want to eat you out for twelve hours straight. I adore you, Aziraphale. I really do.”

“I know, silly,” Aziraphale said, splashing her a little with the bath water. “I adore you too. You're going to be all right, demoness. I promise. This will be hard, but you're strong. And then, when you feel up to it, you may eat me out for twelve hours straight,” she added graciously, and Crowley laughed out loud, stretching in the bath, her eyes alive again, warm and funny. Gosh, Aziraphale loved her eyes, with their golden irises and odd pupils. She loved all of her wife, really, but Crowley's eyes were something _special_.

Crowley stayed in the bath until the water started to cool too much, then Aziraphale held her down and scrubbed her mercilessly until her skin was soft and glowing. She rubbed Crowley dry, including her hair, and got her into a warm nightdress, and a dressing gown and slippers atop that for the chilly ten-foot walk to the bed.

Aziraphale changed quickly herself. Well, not that quickly – Crowley hugged her from behind and tweaked her nipples, making her yelp and swat at her wife, and tumble onto their bed naked for a moment to kiss and be caressed.

“I am going to get frostbite on my bum if you don't let me up,” she warned, so of course Crowley's hand had to explore her bum. A little diminished in size and roundness, but definitely still there.

“Mmm. A painful but compelling argument,” Crowley said, and kissed her. “I love you.”

“I love _you_ , Crowley.” A soft kiss, and Aziraphale got dressed for bed as quickly as she could, sliding under the blankets and cuddling close to Crowley. “It's not quite the right words, but I'm sorry. For, uh. Your loss?”

Crowley smiled. “You're right, it's not the right words, but I don't think there  _are_ right words. Thank you?” She snuggled close. “I promise I won't test you again, that was really awful of me. But I need you real bad, Aziraphale.”

“Good thing you have me. I am yours entirely. And I'll protect you,” Aziraphale promised. “I'll protect you and take care of you and love you more fiercely than I ever have before.” She started to rub Crowley's back, firm through the nightdress, easing her and grounding her ever more. “I don't think this will be an adventure or anything. But I _am_ glad to see the place where you were born.”

Crowley smiled, and rolled over at Aziraphale's nudge, letting her ruck up the fabric and really get to work on the muscles of her back. “You'll love it. The forests are incredible. It's a beautiful kingdom, honestly. I'm glad you get to see it, and to see the Library there.”

“What's the castle like?” Aziraphale asked. “And do you want me to do your arm?”

“If you don't mind? It's all seizing up,” Crowley admitted, and Aziraphale made a scolding sound and pulled up Crowley's sleeve, starting to ease the muscles there. “Oh, I'm _fine_ you worrisome old thing.”

“You broke your arm and it didn't heal right,” Aziraphale told her. “And you're getting better at hiding when it goes all dickey. I don't approve.”

“Neener,” Crowley said happily, and groaned when Aziraphale hit a sore spot. “Oh, God, I'd marry you again right now if you wanted. Right, castle. 'S'fine. Smaller than this one. Not got the hot water, I'm afraid. It's a bit like Gaia's actually, built around the same time. There's nothing really special about it, I'm afraid – not very lovely or anything.”

“Ah well, we're not there for the sights,” Aziraphale said. “And possibly not for very long altogether. We really do just have to assure him you're not interested in anything to do with running Annwn, and that will be enough.”

“Still plenty of time for various relations to call me Raphael,” Crowley said sadly.

“Oh, love. What can I do to help?”

Crowley shrugged a little, and sighed as Aziraphale stretched her arm out, easing the tightness. “Oh, that feels wonderful. Honestly, angel, you're doing it? Be with me, love me, let me know I'm not alone. I've been so lucky – I had Chae, and now I have you too. How is he, by the way?”

“Not about to send a wreath, as he put it. I tried to shake him down for information on Lucifer, but he didn't really know anything,” Aziraphale said. “Asha might know, actually, but the timing is wrong.”  
“We should write to her, though,” Crowley said. “She'll worry.”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale settled Crowley's arm with a kiss for the little bump where the bone hadn't set right, and returned to working her back and shoulders. “We can do that tomorrow, sweet, there's days before we can leave, really. So you have time to rest and be...full of feelings.”

Crowley laughed softly, eyes shutting. “I'm not sad. But I am. I'm angry, I think. And frightened. And I think I can be happy I'm not banned from travelling there. It's very tiring being me right now.”

Aziraphale made a soft little agreeing sound. “Would you like a story, demoness?”

Crowley gave a little wiggle. “Oh, really?”

“Mmmhmm. What are you in the mood for?”

Crowley was quiet a long bit, and sighed when Aziraphale did something and her back popped. “D'you remember what I wrote for  _The Adventure of the Silver Band_ ? The end, when they're both hurt and have to nurse each other?”

“Yes, love. Do you want that story?”

“Uh huh. I want the way they comfort each other, please. I mean, the way they try to have sex when Yvaine has to stay lying on her back is really fun, but I just want...that tenderness.”

“Of course, darling,” Aziraphale said tenderly. “Now, you just settle down – that's my princess. Goodness, you're so pretty. Let's see, how did you start it? Right.”

She sat beside Crowley, still rubbing her back in long, even strokes. “Yvaine opened her eyes and groaned. She had thought her knee hadn't been so bad, but it looked as though about half the apothecary was involved in stabilizing her leg.

'Yeah,' Eleanor said dryly beside her, and with a wince Yvaine turned her head. And winced again, when she saw the state of her beloved. At least they were in bed together this time.

'I knew we shouldn't have trusted those acrobats,' Yvaine said, experimenting with finding a bit of her that didn't hurt. It was taking awhile.

'Probably not,' Eleanor said, far more cheerfully than Yvaine would have expected from the looks of her. 'Well, lesson learned. And we've got a good long holiday now, my love.'

Yvaine simply melted. She adored being Eleanor's love, and felt better already, her best friend by her side.”

Crowley was smiling so sweetly, and little wonder – this was one of their favourite stories, and the one that got told the most when one of them was feeling poorly and needed a little tenderness. Or a lot of tenderness; it was full of long descriptions of the two women helping each other, changing bandages and splints and adjusting various slings or cushions or elevating pulleys. To say nothing of the tender hand-feeding and cuddling and gentle stretches as injuries healed, the first tentative steps taken and the celebrations thereafter.

It usually took a few nights to tell the whole story, but that night they stayed up late, Crowley's bright eyes open and drinking it all in and Aziraphale not flagging at all, but comforting her with story and touch and all the ways they loved each other until dawn, when the two women set off on their next adventure together, and Crowley and Aziraphale finally slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this story! Between filling prompts for Femslash February and the fact that this is rather a hard, sad story to write, things are a bit slower than usual. I'd plan to expect a new chapter every week to two weeks, moving forward.
> 
> (I promise it's a happy ending, just Crowley had a bit of a hard time getting there.)

“Darling, come in – oh, you didn't have to bring food, too,” Aziraphale said as she let Chae in, complete with plate of little sandwiches and tiny biscuits, a rare and lovely treat.

“I'm under Cook's orders, you're both looking too peaky, apparently,” Chae said, and kissed her cheek. “How is she?”

“Neither dead nor deaf,” came the call by the fire, and Aziraphale smiled.

“She's very Crowley,” she said, leading Chae across the Library to the little sitting-area by the fire, where Crowley was curled up on a chair. Aziraphale settled nearby, but let Chae have _her_ usual chair – it was closer to Crowley, after all.

“Hullo demon,” Chae said, setting the plate down within reach of everyone.

Crowley glared at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale glared at Crowley.

Aziraphale took a single sandwich and bit down on one corner, at no point losing eye contact with Crowley.

“I see married life is swell,” Chae said dryly.

“We can't _both_ murder each other in our sleep,” Crowley said, taking another sandwich and nibbling at it. “More's the pity. Thank you, by the way. I'm sorry I couldn't...tell you.”

“'S'alright, Crowley,” Chae said gently. “I understand. When do you two head off?”

“First thing tomorrow,” Aziraphale said, and smiled at Crowley. “Sali will pack our things tonight.”

“Thanks,” Crowley mumbled. “Ugh. I can't...my brain won't hold onto things, you know?”

“I know,” Chae said. “I really do. It's all _right_ , Princess. We'll take care of you.”

Crowley shook her head, then rubbed between her eyes. “Chae, I don't even know what I'm scared of.”

“I think the answer is 'all of it',” Chae said. “I'm not impressed that you've been summoned back there like it's nothing. Any word from Lucifer?”

Crowley shook her head again. “None so far, just that original message.” She sighed. “One day. That's all I really have to do, y'know. Just show up, prove I'm not a threat, get called Raphael a lot, and leave.”

Aziraphale's lips thinned. “We won't spend the night, if we can get away with it. There's inns and the like along the way. It's clear Lucifer wants us to stay a few days, but not if we can preserve the peace and  _not_ .”

“Shit,” Chae said. “I just thought. Can, uh, either of you actually speak the language?”

Aziraphale's face eased and she smiled. “Very badly. I found a phrasebook, actually, deep in the stacks. We thought I should handle things along the way – I mean, probably no one will recognize Crowley, but just to be on the safe side, I can make my accent pretty awful. Enough so that no one will talk to us.”

Chae tilted his head to one side and said something, and Aziraphale replied, and he burst out laughing.

“Where's your cow, farm girl?” he teased, and Aziraphale grinned, and even Crowley smiled to see them tease each other.

“Oh good, I still sound like a hick,” she said happily, and repeated her earlier words, though with a different accent, and Chae jumped.

“That's actually eerie,” he said. “Now _you_ sound like the princess. Or would, if she'd been taught her own language.”

Crowley shrugged. “Don't really care, to be honest. The way I am right now...she'll be better at talking us out of trouble,” she admitted. “Or casual interest, for that matter.”

“That one's more likely,” Aziraphale reminded her gently. “We'll get through this, honey, and then you can rest and come home and it will all be over.”

Crowley gave her a ghost of a smile. “It'll be a good summer. Incidentally, Chae, can we carry a message to your family or anything?”

Chae shook his head. “Honestly, I just sent something off the other day, and I don't want to put you to trouble. It's fine. They, um, aren't really going to be affected by a change of king?”

“Most people aren't,” Aziraphale said. “If it's peaceful.”

Crowley held out a hand and Aziraphale moved to sit at her feet, letting Crowley stroke her hair.

“Hush, you,” she said gently. “I'm all right.”

“'Course you are,” Crowley said, and smiled, and beeped her nose. 

They talked quietly while they ate, each of them careful to share the precious food out equally. Chae and Aziraphale went over their route, and the drivers and footmen who would be taking them – a small staff, but enough to make a statement, and enough that there had to be plans for inns to stay at along the way. It was all a bit new for Aziraphale, but Chae reminded her that it wasn't new for  _them_ .

“Alf's a good one,” he said. “And he knows you two aren't much for royal pomp, it's not going to break any taboo or anything if you just flat-out ask what to do about his and John's lodging or meals or whatever. One of them can change horses if you need it, though it sounds like you'll hardly be taking a punishing pace.”

“Not in the least,” Aziraphale said. “Gosh, it'll be a change from riding myself.”

“Mmm, yeah, shame,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale head-butted her.

“I don't mean this in a bad way, but, uh, _have_ you ridden in a carriage before?” Chae asked, and Aziraphale burst out laughing.

“Am I _really_ that much of a farm girl? Oh, sweetheart. Yes, I have, nearly all the time at Heaven's Court. Even took a carriage back to the Guild, when I left. I'm not actually averse to travelling in comfort, although of course in that case it was more just the expected, done thing,” she explained.

“May I remind you that I see you covered in hay, dust and horse snot more often than I see you not,” Chae teased her. “Can't blame me for thinking you came straight here from the prairie.”

“Oh, if _only_ ,” Aziraphale said, and grinned at him. “Damn, I wish you could come with us.”

“Me too,” Chae said. “Stupid work.”

Aziraphale made a face. The king had given her express permission to go with Crowley for as long as it took, but she knew they were both hoping it wouldn't pull her away from the Library for too many days. His secretary could find things, after a fashion, but it was nothing on her expertise. At least it was a relatively slow time of the year...

Crowley's hand shook a moment, and Aziraphale was about to ask what was wrong, when her steady rhythm resumed, her fingers soft and gentle on Aziraphale's head.

They talked with Chae some more, mostly about small things, farm things, for the castle was really its own farm, with such things to worry over. Aziraphale asked after a few things in Annwn, since he travelled there every few years, and Chae threw in advice to try a particular sweet cake that, upon describing it, Aziraphale just went  _“ooooh!”_ .

Crowley laughed at that and hugged her to her legs for a moment. “Of course, I should have thought of that! We'll try to get you your sweetie, love, you'll adore it.”

Aziraphale smiled and hugged Crowley's legs tight, thin under her heavy skirts. This wouldn't be a joyful trip, not at all. But perhaps, on the way home – perhaps they could take a little time and be kind to themselves. See the forests Crowley loved so much, and eat the foods she'd grown up on. Give her some happy memories of time in Annwn, and of Aziraphale right there, loving her and enjoying her home country just as much as Crowley enjoyed their regular visits to Caelis.

Maybe Crowley would have stopped the strange moments of trembling then, too.

Chae had to excuse himself as evening started to fall, and they both walked him to the door of the Library, where he paused and, only a little surprisingly, pulled them both into a hug. He was a tall, rangey man, and they both fit into his arms well.

“I'll take care of her,” Aziraphale murmured. “With all of me.”

“I know.” He kissed her cheek, then Crowley's. “I love you, demoness. I'm sorry. About the whole bloody mess.”

Crowley just shrugged and hugged back tight enough to hurt, before finally letting him go. “Love you too. It's awful, but there you go.” She shrugged again, and Chae kissed her forehead, squeezed Aziraphale's shoulder, and left.

Aziraphale sighed and kept her arm around Crowley's waist. “It is what it is,” she said, and smiled when Crowley rested her head on Aziraphale's shoulder. She still drew  _towards_ , cuddled, held, touched, anytime she had a chance, the silly girl. 

“Everything but you is dreadful,” Aziraphale said suddenly. “This is pants. I'm going to go get some cocoa, and steal a kitten from the barn and bring them both here for us to enjoy.”

Crowley smiled. “Steal two kittens.”

“Done and done. Go get comfortable, love, I'll be back before you can miss me,” Aziraphale said, turning and hugging her, then gently pushing her away from the door.

“Liar,” Crowley called over one shoulder, but she did as she was told.

Aziraphale swept through the castle rather like a galleon going into battle. She was a big woman – fat, but also  _strong_ , and she knew how to use it, how to be imposing and tall and broad and draw attention to herself. Rather helping today was the unusual gown she wore – a deep cranberry red, one of Crowley's colours really, but she had so liked it, she couldn't resist. It was a gown of inverses, for Crowley had designed it for her, shyly. Mostly it was constructed along the loose, comfortable lines she usually wore, but there were lovely snakey shapes appliqued in black and yellow along the sleeves and bodice; they gave her a bit more oomph, she thought.

Not that one had to fight for nice things here, but it  _did_ help speed along the making of a good-sized pot of cocoa and oh, just a  _smidge_ of brioche to go along with it to...well, all right, not cut the richness, but certainly as a good accompaniment. 

(And oh, thank you God, the cows were giving again, so there was milk and butter. Not overflowing, but enough for tiny treats like this again, and maybe soon she wouldn't be in breathtaking pain when her courses came on, and her corsets would fit right again, and she wouldn't feel Crowley's hipbones so sharply.)

She stole out to the barn while the milk was being warmed and picked out the two smallest kittens she could find, both of them grey as mist and unspeakably adorable. She could hold them easily with one hand against her chest, and a basket with her goodies in the other, and it was a familiar run back up to the Library, and her Crowley.

Good, she'd listened for once in her whole life and was sitting on big cushions by the fire. Her face lit up when she saw Aziraphale and all her goodies, and held her hands out for the little mites first. Crowley loved babies, and that included non-human ones too.

Aziraphale laughed and handed the kittens over to crawl all over Crowley's lap and start to mount an attack on her chest while she settled and poured out their cocoa. They had just a slice of brioche each, but it was toasted and dripping with butter, and Aziraphale allowed herself one small bite at a time, the better to savour it.

Crowley leaned in and kissed her, butter-sweet herself, and they kissed again, soft and open.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. “I just need you to remember that. That I love you.”

Crowley smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “Like I'd ever forget. Like you'd ever  _let_ me forget for so much as a moment. I love you too. I'm going to be...sad. I'm going to be a lot of things,” she settled on ruefully. “But I will be all right. They...took my family away, my first one. They don't get to take anything else away.”

“Not one bit,” Aziraphale agreed, and stole a kitten to cuddle and kiss while it emitted tiny sounds, and an itty-bitty paw waved in the air. “Little huntress!”

Crowley laughed and petted the cat in her lap who was exploring on wobbly legs. They sat both cross-legged on pillows, knees to knees, and Crowley smiled, looking up at Aziraphale.

“This reminds of me of when I was little, playing with friends. Cousins and the like.”

“Me too,” Aziraphale said. “Well, with Mum and Da, mostly, but friends when we went into town, I guess.”

“Were you lonely?” Crowley asked.

“No, I was _weird_ ,” Aziraphale said.

“...was?” Crowley asked, and yelped and laughed, ducking Aziraphale threatening her with a pillow. “We're both weird! It's okay!”

“ _You're_ weird,” Azirpahale sniffed. “I'm a Librarian, that means I'm eccentric.” She smiled beatifically at the look Crowley gave her, and broke down laughing. “Look, yes, I was a weird child, are you actually surprised? I grew up alone on a farm, my best friend was a goat for about three years. I made a lot of dollies out of cornhusks and scrap fabric and the like, and only saw other little girls on Sundays.”  
Crowley sighed, envious. “I tried to steal my cousins' dolls but it didn't work.”

“Oh, lovey.” Aziraphale smiled and touched her cheek. “I can still make a decent ragdoll, I ought to make you one.”

Crowley blushed. “You don't have to...”

“Maybe I want to,” Aziraphale teased, and kissed Crowley's cheek, lingering when she shook, just for a moment. “Yes, that's what I'll do, I think, once we're settled back home. I know it's silly, but you ought to have a doll of your own.”

“Being silly never stopped us before,” Crowley commented, rescuing her kitten from falling into the cocoa.

“Point,” Aziraphale said, and so they spent the time until supper sat in a pool of firelight, drinking cocoa and playing with kittens. It was as good an evening as could be hoped for; Crowley was laughing again, and the lines around her eyes eased, and she legitimately got to fish a lost kitten out of Aziraphale's bosom, which she declared the most perfect action ever to exist.

(Aziraphale, who was nursing some scratches in unfortunate places, could not agree.)

Then the cocoa was finished and supper was eaten and Aziraphale returned the kittens to the barn, and all was ready for their departure the next day. 

Neither of them slept very much that night, and Crowley woke up yawning and feeling muzzy and not quite right, like something had been dislocated, but she wasn't sure what. It was awful, and coffee and sweet buns could only help so much as they dressed and made ready to leave. She wasn't short-tempered, exactly, but she just wanted to get into the carriage with Aziraphale and get going and get this whole stupid thing over with.

She bit her tongue, though, and kissed her aunt and uncle and cousin goodbye, and let herself be handed into the big, ornate carriage. At least they would be comfortable travelling; there were big clear windows and the inside was wonderfully roomy, especially for just two women. The benches were well-padded and upholstered in fine, soft wool. And Aziraphale urged her to lie down, her head in Aziraphale's lap on the soft stuff of her gown as they began their journey.

“How are you so upright?” Crowley grumbled.

“One of us has to be,” Aziraphale said with a bemused smile. “I'm more used to going without sleep, I think, dearest.” She stroked the side of Crowley's head, the tight braids pinned down. “I also have...less immediate worries. I care about you, and love you, and I'm worried for you. Deeply worried. But it's _for you_ and not for myself. I told Chae – what can they do to me that hasn't already been done?”

“That's a way to think about it,” Crowley said softly. “I can't get disowned _twice_.”

“No, my demoness. And you already have a home to go back to. Close your eyes, and see it. Your looms, and your orrery. Your paintings and prints and things hung up, and your little collection of books – yes, you love them too!” Aziraphale laughed when Crowley wrinkled her nose. “And your study, all warm and dark, not as much used, I suppose, but I like it. It feels like living in your head. And of course your bedroom – we both love your bedroom very much.”

Crowley managed a small smile, tracing the familiar places in her mind, relaxing. She had a place to be safe. “Are you there?”

“If you wish me to be, love, of course I am. Not in bed yet, perhaps, if we've only just got home. By your mirror, adjusting my gown, you know the waist always goes all odd on me these days. And I do like to be beautiful for you.”

“Why are you bothering, I'm just going to get it off you,” Crowley grumbled, and was rewarded with Aziraphale laughing, with feeling her shake with it.

“Well, all right then. I'm undressing, getting ready for bed with you,” Aziraphale teased. “Better?”

“Much,” Crowley said happily, and patted Aziraphale's knee. “Do you promise that will happen really?”

“I promise,” Aziraphale said gently, her hand now stroking down Crowley's body. “I promise, demoness. Wife. Best friend. All the things you are to me. I promise we'll have that; not even very long from now.”

Crowley smiled, and felt her breathing ease. Her back was a mess of knots, but she would be all right. She couldn't quite sleep, but dozed there in Aziraphale's lap as they followed the road to Annwn.

They stayed the night in a quiet inn, Aziraphale handling the care and feeding of their little party with only some help from Alf needed. It had been a long day's travel, and they both appreciated the chance to stretch their legs a bit, taking a little walk on paths laid out through the fields behind the inn. It was a clear spring day, cold but sunny, and Aziraphale sighed happily, tilting her head back and letting her cloak's hood fall as she bathed her face in the warm sun.

“Oh, heavenly,” she murmured, while Crowley popped her hood back on.

“You've got to stay warm, angel,” she chided. “You feel the cold so much more now. They'll send up a proper meal to us, right?”

Aziraphale turned and gathered her into a hug. She knew precisely what Crowley needed, and to be honest Crowley sort of hated it, just as much as she loved it. Couldn't Aziraphale get  _angry_ with her for fussing?

“A spring breeze won't carry me off,” she comforted. “I'm healthy as can be, love. Strong enough to go about bareheaded, at least.” She rubbed Crowley's back. “They'll bring us all a good dinner, I promise. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, hiding her face a moment in Aziraphale's neck. “I know. I'm sorry. I'm...sorry.” To say what she thought of herself just then would be really dreadful; there would be comforting and a worried wife and it would all be just awful.

Aziraphale kissed her firmly, and flicked the hood of  _her_ cloak off. “I love you with all my heart, Crowley. But I  _will_ take care of you, of both of us. Get some sun on your face, darling, and breathe deep, and we will march around this field until you've got some colour in your cheeks, am I understood, Princess?”

That was her bossy-in-bed tone, and it did what it was meant to, which was make Crowley smile and take Aziraphale's hand, and walk over the fine spring grasses, roaming far and returning as the sun just passed the horizon, both of them with red in their cheeks and wind in their hair and it helped. 

“I am unbelievably annoyed that worked, for the record,” Crowley said, as they went up to their room.

“I'll try to care about that tomorrow,” Aziraphale said airily, and laughed and ran down the corridor as Crowley chased her, ready to give her at least one, more like several, revenge kisses.

It  _did_ help. Not all the way, but Crowley felt less of an urge to apologize for simply existing. They shared a shockingly good dinner and a lovely pudding, and curled up in bed together with a few kisses and cuddles.

“I'm not even that tired,” Crowley admitted, and Aziraphale grinned at her.

“You've got too used to riding. It's all right, we can nap tomorrow if we have to,” she said. “And it's another few days to Annwn.” Aziraphale snuggled even closer. “Will you tell me a story, please?”

“Eleanor and Yvaine?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale nodded, squirming so her head was on Crowley's chest.

“Of course, angel. Let's see, you always like the one where they have to pretend that Eleanor is a Queen and Yvaine is her concubine...”

Aziraphale gave a squeak of joy. It  _was_ one of her favourites, not least because she loved it most of all when she and  _Crowley_ played Queen and concubine. Good memories, all of them.

Crowley started to stroke her back as she began her story.

“'You cannot be serious,' Yvaine said.

'It's what you're supposed to wear!' Eleanor protested. 'Besides, you look...stunning.'

'You can see my nipples,' Yvaine complained, 'and all that metal is cold!'”

Aziraphale giggled softly and fell into the story, Crowley's low voice filling the night until Eleanor and Yvaine were installed in a palace, Yvaine was wearing about three lovingly-described wisps of silk. Head full of story and arms around each other, they fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of a content warning: Crowley is deadnamed multiple times in this chapter. Not exactly offscreen, but I describe it or summarize it, rather than writing out the conversation/names used/etc. She isn't as safe as she usually is, but she gets through it, and Aziraphale is with her, supporting her and being as fiercely protective as she can be. Everyone has a lot of big feelings, though.
> 
> (There's one more chapter where they're at Annwn, and then they leave and things begin to get better, I promise!)

The next day was much the same – rise, eat and drink, and set out on the wide road. The landscape was slowly changing, Aziraphale noticed, watching the world go by outside of the carriage windows. The forests were changing; oak and ash to alder and pine and cedar. The houses were changing too; what had been plain facades of Terra were beginning to be painted blues and greens. Single-storey houses gave way to two-storey with little balconies and additions and the like. Crowley told her that families tended to live together in Annwn, with a set of grandparents or other older relatives helping with childcare; they were more likely to live separately in Terra.

“It's beautiful,” Aziraphale confessed as they moved through a thickly-wooded area. The sky was low and grey but the rain hadn't started yet, and the world felt soft and safe with the great trees beside them and overhead.

“It is!” Crowley laughed and kissed her cheek, wrapping her arms around Aziraphale. She had slept a little the night before, and didn't need to doze in her wife's lap.

Aziraphale pressed her hand to Crowley's, stilling its sudden tremble. These little spells were still happening, and she worried, but Crowley didn't mention it so neither did she.

“I _am_ glad you get to see it,” Crowley continued. “I never hated the land. The forests and the like, nor the people really. They didn't care that some prince had been disowned. There were always multiple lines of succession, so peace could be relied upon.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. And it was only your family that were terrible to you. I know how you love running about in forests; you must have been very happy here. I mean, here-here, free of the castle.”

“Very happy,” Crowley confirmed, and hugged her again as they watched the endless forest, the heavy evergreens blocking out so much light that there was a kind of twilight as soon as one got off the road.

They stopped for a cold lunch, but didn't venture far in. “It's easy to get lost,” Crowley admitted, touching the rough bark of a cedar tree with delicate fingertips.

“There's an idea,” Aziraphale teased. “Alf can go on ahead without us, report that he lost the princess in the forest, too bad so sad.”

Crowley laughed out loud, throwing her head back. “And you and I escape to...?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “We'll figure something out. We'll have to make our way back to Terra eventually, of course, but I'm sure we could have a lot of adventures along the way.”

“Be our own Eleanor and Yvaine?” Crowley teased. “Which of us almost gets eaten by a wolf?”

“Me,” Aziraphale decided. “There's nothing to you. I'm far more delectable, even now.”

Crowley was still laughing when they went back into the carriage. Which didn't stop them from playing Wolf Attack Victim And Convenient Local Hot Woodcutter that night, tucked up in a quiet little inn just outside of Annwn's borders. Well, mostly playing it.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley murmured, petting Aziraphale, arranged in bed with her grievous injuries attended to and the few scraps of fabric that were all that was left of her clothes removed. “I'm just...not in the mood.”

“I can't imagine why,” Aziraphale said sitting up and pulling Crowley into a hug.

“Oi! I just treated all your many wounds, especially the ones on your bosom!”

Aziraphale giggled softly. “You'll just have to treat them again. Love, we don't have to have sex. Ever. I'm quite serious about this – don't apologise for such things. You owe me nothing.”

“I know, I know,” Crowley grumbled good-naturedly. “Now will you lie down? I'm not done playing nurse yet.”

“Yes, dearest,” Aziraphale said, resettling on the bed and slipping back into character with a pained moan. “My leg....”

Crowley ran her hands all up that gorgeous, much-beloved and frankly fetishised limb. “Shhh, you must be perfectly still, you were so badly hurt.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered, and licked her lips. “I don't know what I'd do without you...” Another quiet yet operatic moan as Crowley tended her thigh with intense attention, and no more was said about sex.

They played out their familiar little game, making each other smile and giggle, and fell asleep together, warm and safe, snatching what joy they could. They wouldn't have another full day of freedom again until they left the court.

Crowley was quiet the next few days, and Aziraphale let her be so. She had handled everything so far, and continued to do so, paying for their rooms at the inn, arranging for food and drink, and even going over the route with Alf when their first choice of roads had been washed out.

It was no different when they finally arrived at the castle. Of course Alf was the one to speak to the gate guards, and he and John would handle the horses and carriage until it was time to leave, but it was Aziraphale who would act as the point of contact for them, in addition to gently shepherding her wife around.

Her poor wife – Crowley was mute when they arrived, her eyes huge even under her dark glasses, and she held Aziraphale's hand so tightly it almost hurt. They were ushered inside, for it had begun to rain, a heavy cold downpour, and were shown to their rooms.

They had been given an apartment not unlike Crowley's at home, with a sitting room, small office, bedroom and bathroom, a fire already laid and the early spring chill chased off. The furniture was old but well-made, the rooms a bit dark, perhaps, but would serve well. If there were any other reason to visit, or the apartment was in any other place, it would have been a wonderful little bolthole, and Aziraphale would have quite completely enjoyed it. As it was, they had just enough time to change from the road before they were summoned to see Prince Lucifer.

Aziraphale settled her fillet, head already aching from how she had set her jaw for the last three hours. She  _hated_ this castle, hated the looks they'd already got, hated that she'd heard Crowley's boy name already whispered when they were not quite out of earshot.

Crowley herself was milk-pale, her hands trembling regularly now. She was in full court dress, corsetted and embroidered and in silk from head to toe, but had deliberately left her crown off. They were here to prove she was no threat, and that was that.

Aziraphale paused before their door, and took Crowley's hands in hers. “I love you,” she said softly. “I can't be a shield as much as I want to. I can't entirely stop them from hurting you. But I am your  _wife_ , and I always will be. Remember that, that someone loves you more than you can even imagine. And  _I'll_ be here when they're long gone.”

Crowley bit her lip. “I'll remember,” she said, her voice raw and rough and deeper than usual.

“I love you,” Aziraphale repeated, and kissed her cheek softly before leading them out of the room.

A servant brought them to the throne room. It would have been a great hall in Terra, but here it was smaller, more ornate; intended for an audience of just a few, rather than a pile of farmers and the like.

They were announced, and Aziraphale braced herself but this time was all right. She was given proper title and name, and Crowley's correct name was used as well, and she was announced as a princess of Terra. A pointed statement? If so, it was one she was willing to heartily support.

“Your Majesty,” Crowley said, still in that rough voice. She stayed exactly one pace ahead of Aziraphale as they moved through the throne room, and Aziraphale was careful to bow rather than curtsey, and to bend deeper than Crowley did. Such were the intricacies of status.

“Cousins.” Lucifer was a fine-looking man of fifty, with light hair and eyes; if anything he looked more closely related to Aziraphale than to Crowley.

(For a moment, Aziraphale wondered what colour eyes Crowley should have had, had she not been born with the condition she was. Red hair and blue eyes? Striking, but not unusual. Of course she was stunning now with her amber eyes, and Aziraphale pulled her mind away to the present.)

“Prince Lucifer,” Crowley said again, a tinge of amusement in her voice. “My condolences on your loss.”

“Er, yes, thank you. And...on yours?” Lucifer smiled a little, ironically. “I hope your journey wasn't too arduous.”

“It was quite comfortable, your Majesty,” Aziraphale said, her low clear voice carrying, for all that the room was nearly empty. “Your kingdom is beautiful. I had not visited Annwn before, and I am pleased to have seen her forests.”

Lucifer's smile was genuine this time. “Maestra, thank you for your kind words. I'm glad your journey was uneventful. Allow me to be blunt – I think none of us want to waste time?” At Aziraphale's nod, he continued. “Princess, I am sorry to have summoned you. But there are...legal matters, before I ascend the throne. Am I right that you have no desire to take the throne for yourself?”

“None,” Crowley said, eyes fixed on the floor. “I have a good life in Terra, and I am...forgive me,” she said. “I find it hard to speak about this.”

“Forgiven,” Lucifer said gently. “I am sorry, Crowley. I truly am. But wars have been started for less.”

Crowley looked up at that, and over at Aziraphale, and took her hand. “I know,” she said, her voice a little stronger now, and Aziraphale smiled at her, soft and encouraging. “I renounce any claim I might have to the throne. I...accept my disownment. I have a family in Terra, now.”

Lucifer sighed. “That's just it. It's, well, it's bloody annoying. Your...ah, the old king and queen never legally disowned you, Crowley. It's all a bit of a mess. But all you need to do is sign away your claim, and your citizenship. Of course you are welcome to travel to Annwn as often as you wish, now. I would personally be happy to give you a place to stay, if you ever want to visit the castle. But there must be a...public relinquishment.”

Oh for  _fuck's sake_ . Aziraphale was going to resurrect Crowley's parents and kill them again herself. Of course they would find a way to cause her yet more harm!

“Of course. I'll sign anything you like,” Crowley said. “But...well, forgive me. I don't remember you, but you seem nice. It's just – I truly never want to set foot in this castle again.”

“I don't blame you in the least,” Lucifer said. “I love this kingdom, Crowley. But I will be undoing a great deal,” he said tactfully. “Starting with the inner court.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale was charmed by the way they smiled at each other.

“I'm sorry to ask this of you,” Lucifer said gently. “But will you stay a few days? Just to sign the paperwork publicly tomorrow, and attend Mass with me on Sunday, so that all are assured of our peace. Then you may leave, and never return if you wish.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Of course. Whatever is needed.”

“Thank you,” Lucifer said, sighing in obvious relief. “You are so kind, Princess, truly.”

“I don't hate the kingdom,” Crowley said bluntly. “I love it, in my own way. Don't forget, I was raised to be king too. If it will preserve the peace...” She looked over at Aziraphale again. “May we stay in our rooms? And the Library; I know my wife will want to meet with the Maester here.”

“Of course,” Lucifer said. “I'm sure Eric will be happy to speak with you, Maestra. And the castle is yours, Princess, to explore or not as you like.”

Crowley nodded shortly. “I think it would be best if I avoided my family. Present company accepted.”

“Mmm. You may go now; I'll send for you tomorrow, for what must be done. Go well, Princess.”

Crowley and Aziraphale made their obeisance, and left, both of them breathing out as soon as the door closed behind them.

They didn't have much of a break, though; and worse luck for it, because of  _course_ it was the Lady Hastur who descended upon them, purposely trilling the wrong name. Aziraphale nearly lamped her one, but it wouldn't do to start a feud. She simply extracted the two of them as quickly as possible (though not quickly enough to her taste), following a servant back to their room, Crowley's hand trembling in hers. There had been ugly words before they could get away, and she hated everything and everyone in this stupid, ugly, backwards kingdom. Even Lucifer – he was  _king_ ! (Or, well, nearly so, his coronation wasn't for some weeks yet.) People had to listen to him!

But instead they were in their rooms and she was holding Crowley, stopping only to lock the door firmly before taking her in arms again and settling them by the fire.

“I'm all right,” Crowley said, remarkably quickly.

Aziraphale snorted.

“I am. I'm...free.” Crowley smiled suddenly. “Love, I'm free. I mean really, now. Of course Mother and Father fucked it up, I'd expect nothing less from them. But after this...I'll be as free as an Annwn peasant girl, like I always wanted to be.”

Aziraphale smiled and shook her head. “You always were. But yes, the legal issues will...agh, this will be good, I think. And it's just two days. We can do anything for two days, my darling.”

Crowley smiled and snuggled close. “You should go say hello to the Maester.”

“In a bit,” Aziraphale said. “I find I rather need to hold my beautiful girl for a long time first.”

“Ridiculous woman,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale ignored her and stayed right there. They'd be out of this awful place so soon. And maybe she needed a little comfort too, to hold her wife and tell her she was beautiful, and kiss her. To feel Crowley steady in her arms, her head a familiar weight on Aziraphale's shoulder. Of course she was here wholly and firstly and lastly and all for Crowley, but oh, it did feel good to hold her and be cuddled, just a little, in return.

When Crowley had assured her that she was just fine in their rooms, curled up with her knitting and the view of the setting sun, Aziraphale finally kissed her twice and made her way to the Library. She knew Eric distantly, and liked him well enough, and, well, it  _was_ the done thing.

She found a friendly, slightly distracted man who brewed a wonderful cup of tea and was content to set his work aside and chat with her.

“I'm sorry, I won't be much help,” he confessed. “I don't have any really especial friends among the castle residents – staff or otherwise. I'm naturally a bit of a hermit.”

Aziraphale was pretty sure this was exactly who she'd be without Crowley, so was quick to assure him that she didn't require castle gossip or anything of the sort. “We're not aiming to stay long, and even then we'll be in our rooms,” she admitted. “I'm sure the castle is lovely, just...”

Eric winced and nodded. “It's safer. I'm sorry. It shouldn't be this way.”

“Well, no. But we can't change that right now,” Aziraphale said. “I'm not to sock anyone, might start an incident.”

Eric laughed and topped up her tea. “More's the pity. You're not missing loads, though – this is a quiet place. A quiet kingdom. Not much changes here.”

“Yes, the antiquated primogeniture laws were a clue,” Aziraphale said dryly.

“Try the _entire legal system_ ,” Eric groaned. “It hasn't changed in about five hundred years. It's _weird_. They're very captured in amber. I know Lucifer wants to change things, but honestly he'd better get to having kids and raising them up to be radicals. This is going to take a few generations.”

Aziraphale winced. And meanwhile, hell for anyone a bit different, anyone like Crowley. Not even exactly like Crowley – just anyone who didn't fit into this carved-in-stone court.

“Good lord. Well, I can only hope he can change _something_ ,” she said. “Got to start somewhere.”

Eric sighed. “Indeed. Oh – you were at Heaven's Court for a time, right? Did you know the Scholar Owen?”

Aziraphale winced. “I knew of him. I'm sorry – I was a bad fit there, and would rather not talk about it.”

Eric went red. “I'm so sorry – I've rather gone and put my foot in it, haven't I?”

A dredged-up smile. “Nothing to be sorry for, you didn't know.” God, Aziraphale was exhausted, suddenly strangely angry. At this man, this court, this whole bloody ruling family. Why could no one  _change_ ? Of course it hurt, but it made things better! Didn't they get...disgusted with themselves, being so stagnant? Just  _change_ !

It wouldn't do any good to get angry at a shy Maester Librarian, or anyone else. Aziraphale stayed long enough to be polite, and let Eric know she bore no bad feelings at his faux pas. She didn't go so far as to like him, but he was polite enough and a good host; there were worse Librarians to pass an hour with. Besides, she fancied that they were both relieved when she made her excuses, and that warmed her towards him. She really  _would_ have been a hermit, left to her own devices and especially  _here_ , and she was glad she wasn't, glad she had friends and drinking companions and of course her own wife, and she practically ran back to her rooms, and then straight into Crowley's arms.

“What's wrong? Did someone say something to you?” Crowley had set her knitting aside just in time to keep from skewering Aziraphale, and pulled her into her lap for a cuddle.

“Nothing.” Aziraphale kissed her. “I didn't see anyone. Eric's nice. Just – I love you. And you're very good for me. I mean, I'm so much...more, because of you.”

Crowley smiled and shook her head. “You need a drink.”

“We both need a drink.” Aziraphale hugged her, and stroked her hair. “How are you?”

“Awful,” Crowley said. “But just two days. I can handle two days. More like one and a half now, really.”

“Of course you can.” Aziraphale touched her cheek, and frowned when she felt Crowley tremble. A few strands of her hair had come out from even the gentle touch, and it was all frightening and awful.

They could manage two days, she reminded herself, cuddling her wife and rubbing her arm, resting her head on Crowley's bony shoulder. And then home, and safe, and more food coming available, rich cream and butter and bread and good things to give her love back what she needed, not least of all a place where she was wanted and cared for. Aziraphale would go on walks with her and hug her and feed her good food, fresh vegetables and puddings and the like, and Crowley's hair would grow out strong and her body would fill out, and she'd smile and laugh and be all right.

Aziraphale opened a bottle of wine for them, and toasted Crowley before she could protest, and so they eased after a horrible day. Supper was delivered and eaten.

The only tarnish to their peace was a knock on the door at one point. Aziraphale answered, and when the person on the other side requested to speak to Crowley – using her boy name and the wrong pronouns – Aziraphale got to loftily tell them that there was no one by that name in, and then promptly shut the door in their face, locking up. It wasn't fun, but it was certainly  _satisfying_ .

They slept lightly that night, for all that the bed was comfortable, and both rose with the dawn – not too unusual for Aziraphale, and unheard-of for Crowley.

“Oh, sweetheart...” Aziraphale had been very carefully combing out Crowley's hair. Her red curls, streaked with silver – Aziraphale thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen – were coming out at the lightest touch. “Love, I'm going to leave your hair down. I'm afraid even a braid would pull too much.”

“Why bother anyway,” Crowley said bitterly, touching a spot that was nearly bald. “It's all..Christ. I'm going to look awful no matter what.”

“Love, love,” Aziraphale breathed, and kissed her cheek. “I'm sorry. It's so unfair. You will always, _always_ be beautiful for me.”

“It's not fair,” Crowley grumbled. “Why aren't you losing your bloody hair?”

Aziraphale breathed deeply, and answered her true. “I've been through this before. Having not enough to eat, and stress, I mean. My body is...hardened, I think. I'm descended from people who had to survive famines; your ancestors didn't. And I had more weight to spare than you did, darling. I expect that helped.”

Crowley was silent while Aziraphale arranged her hair to cover thin spots, and finger-curled the short locks to make them pretty and shine.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, when Aziraphale finished and lifted her hands. “That was...unimaginably cruel of me. A horrific thing to say to you, or to anyone. Again. I'm so, so sorry, Aziraphale.”

“Don't cry, you'll muck up your eye makeup,” Aziraphale said, for if Crowley cried, she would too. How could anyone sound so _scared_? “I love you. Apology accepted, and grace given, wife.”

Crowley turned and hugged Aziraphale carefully around the waist. “I love you more than there are words. When this is all over, when we're both well, I”m going to take you away and give you the best holiday of your life. I'm going to spoil you and love you and drape you in silk and jewels and any book you want in the world, I'll get it for you.”

Aziraphale smiled and rubbed Crowley's back. “My dear girl. All I want is our little cabin in the forest, and maybe a cake and some of our favourite books. And you.” She paused. “And no silk. Nothing at all, actually. You're usually the first to suggest that, for me.”

Crowley actually laughed at that, and hugged Aziraphale tighter. “Well, you make a good point.” She kissed her waist. “Let's breakfast, and sit, and rest. We won't be summoned for a few hours yet.”

“It's a short ceremony. Not even a ceremony,” Aziraphale reminded her. “A legal procedure. And then we come right back here until Mass tomorrow. I'm going to roll you up in a blanket like an omelette and sit on you and read you silly romances.”

Crowley smiled as she poured out their coffee – their breakfast had quietly been delivered to the front room while they dressed. It almost seemed as though things would be all right.

They were even joking when the page came for them. Aziraphale had been working embroidery and Crowley resting, stretched out on a long sofa, giggling and making eyes at her wife. She was ghastly thin, Aziraphale thought, and she wondered if they could take their time getting home, just a little. Stop at a lot of bakeshops kind of thing, get cakes and good coffee and plain meals. Alf and John had been just as hungry as the royal family, and she'd made sure they had extra portions on the way; honestly, it would do them  _all_ good to have an easy journey, and a healing one. Crowley loved Annwn itself; once out of the castle, things would get better.

Thoughts of the future did little to help when they finally arrived to a room full of witnesses. A few were required by law; most were there to gawk. Aziraphale didn't recognise any friends, which she noted as rather interesting – other family members would have been summoned by the dying of the old king and queen, but as she looked around, any familiar faces were only from Christmas, and had been people to avoid, or politely disentangle herself from. (Or, for that matter, impolitely ban from her Library.) Their beloved Anthony was absent, as were a few other cousins she and Crowley had become pals with.

Well. There was an excuse to not linger and chit-chat. Aziraphale took Crowley's hand, lacing their fingers together, and so they were presented to the court.

It was awful. From start to finish, and Lucifer looked genuinely ashamed, but Aziraphale was not particularly impressed by this. Having been raised as a peasant, she had figured that one of the (many) advantages of power was that you, you know,  _had power_ . Of course knowing Crowley and then becoming something of a confidant to the rest of the royal family, she knew that there were checks on royal powers but, well,  _still._ He could have tried.

It was long and full of ceremony and whispering people, and the documentation was all in Crowley's boy name, and Aziraphale bit her lip, watching her wife sign a name and title that hadn't been hers for nigh on forty years. Lucifer couldn't look either of them in the eye for  _that_ one at least. She hoped he was guilty enough to send them his finest wines to get drunk on; they'd earned it.

There were long recitations and explanations and others had to sign the documents too. The room was too warm somehow; every castle Aziraphale had ever been in was utterly freezing at all times, but not this one. She felt dizzy by the time the ceremony was ended, and she and Crowley all but ran from the room, ignoring any overheard gossip or calls for their attention alike.

They didn't speak, just went straight for their apartment. Aziraphale closed and locked the door behind them, and rested against it, exhaling deeply. “ _Fuck_ .”

Crowley laughed and reached for her, hugged her. “I'm  _free_ . Let me put the kettle on, you're rosy as can be. There were fifty more people in that room than there ought to have been, and I hope they all choke on it. I don't want the damn title, or anything but my lass and a warm spring day.”

Aziraphale laughed too, caught by Crowley's cheer. Brittle, but...there was joy there too. “Let  _me_ put the kettle on, you've just been through it.” She kissed Crowley's cheek. “I love you, Crowley. My Crowley, my Princess.”

“My Maestra.” Crowley kissed her cheek back and went to rustle up a plate of biscuits from the little stash left for them. They were tiny and a bit odd, made with not enough butter, but would do well enough for a tiny, odd celebration.

Aziraphale sorted their tea out, setting the tiny table by the fire to look as pretty as she could make it, and making Crowley sit down and rest her feet – those heeled shoes always gave her an ache.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently. “I mean it, Crowley. That was...I know you hate using that name.”

“No,” Crowley said bluntly. “I'm not all right. I feel like a piece of me died. But I will be all right. Just Mass tomorrow, and we're leaving forever. I'm just trying to focus on that. Please can we talk about anything else but how I'm feeling?”

“You know, just after the border, there was that lovely little bakeshop,” Aziraphale said, not missing a beat. “I want to stop there on the way back, it smelled divine from the road. Sound good to you?”

Crowley's smile softened, and lost its sharp, strained edge. “Angel, I'd love that. That's not too far from the inn with the really good ales, right?”

“Just about an hour's ride – we should definitely stay there,” Aziraphale decided. “Even two nights, if we like. The village there is small, but I think Asha's recommended a particular dressmaker there, we should at least stop by.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said. “You'll need a mid-weight gown for spring – no, don't argue with me, my lass. You've changed size, and you won't change back overnight, and my wife wears clothes that are comfortable and show off her beauty.” She winked. “I'll let you pick out something for me?”

“Underwear,” Aziraphale said. “So light it's see-through. With lace. And a little bit of embroidery. And it's the _only_ thing I'll let you wear in our cabin, this summer.”

Crowley was startled into a real laugh, and Aziraphale though that perhaps it would all right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start off pretty hard, but I promise it gets so much better from here!

It was a strange, quiet evening; the weather had turned beautiful, springtime warm and springtime bright, and they both felt a little cooped-up.

“Go out and breathe a little,” Crowley told Aziraphale over supper. “ _You're_ safe here.”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “I mean, I know I am. But I don't want to leave you. And I hate this place. I don't _want_ to enjoy it.”

Crowley smiled a little. “I don't want you to leave me either, if we're being honest. But it's not...fair. To you.”

“Bollocks,” Aziraphale said softly, holding out her hand so Crowley could lay hers in it. “Whoever promised you fair, lovey?”  
“Heh. Point. Still. When you're poorly, I still get to run around outside,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale's smile only grew. “I know. It's wonderful. It's like sending a puppy to run off energy, but I get flowers and hugs and kisses when you come back.”

“Oi!” Crowley was laughing, at least, although the tension around her eyes hadn't faded any. The tension in her whole body, rather. 

Aziraphale had begun counting down the hours until they could go. They were nearly packed, and would put away any last items tomorrow morning before Mass, so they could leave right after. They could do this.

Neither of them slept particularly well that night, nor did they much care the next morning, yawning and drinking coffee and dressing for church. The glorious spring weather held, so at least they would have that much; after a year of drought and an awful winter, it felt like the world was paying them interest.

Even in chapel, though, there was meaning. They were both dressed in muted colours and simple gowns. Similarly, even; Crowley wore a dark grey and Aziraphale light dove-grey. Of course they sat together – very pointedly in the guest pews, ignoring even empty seats in the pews of the royal family. Even here, of course, there were rustles and whispering just a little too loud, but Crowley kept her chin lifted, her dark glasses hiding her gaze; she was wearing the style that hid them even from Aziraphale.

At least it was pretty there, Aziraphale reflected. She was non-committal about church, enjoying it when she had to go, but hardly seeking it out. The paintings were lovely, and so was the stained glass, and the choir was good enough that she could enjoy the music.

She and Crowley stood and sat, recited the responses and sang the hymns as required. They were seen, and were seen to be what they were – nonthreatening, modest, a loving couple that shared a single hymnbook, no longer part of the royal family. They could be any middle-class women anywhere, and Aziraphale let herself fall, just a little, into this alternate life, where they had a simple home together, and loved each other and their friends, and otherwise were left alone.

It was a nice story – like a lot of the stories they told themselves, playing at this or that role, or truly being housewives when they went to their little getaway for a weekend or a week here and there. It lightened Aziraphale's heart as they sat and waited to go up to get communion, and she laced her fingers through Crowley's, smiling at her wife when she turned.

Crowley smiled back, and formed her hand into the symbol Aziraphale had taught her, the one that meant  _I love you_ , and then it was their pew's turn.

It was all right until they were nearly to the altar, ready to kneel and take the host. Nothing seemed to trigger it, nothing special, other than perhaps they had drawn even with the royal family's pew.

Crowley simply, silently, toppled over in a single smooth motion.

The rest of the world vanished for Aziraphale, everything but catching her love and easing her to the ground, feeling her throat – pulse weak, but there. She was breathing, but unconscious, and unable to be roused, spilling out of Aziraphale's lap, her body an impossible tangle on the floor.

God only knew what was going on around them; Aziraphale just knelt over her, protective, panicked. Something was wrong, so, so wrong, and she didn't know what to do, Crowley wasn't waking up, her pulse was so weak, she was ill and Aziraphale hadn't  _known_ , she should have fought harder, pulled strings, been  _clever_ . That was what she was good for – being clever, and instead she'd gone into this viper's den with the person she loved most in the whole world, and  _she hadn't protected Crowley_ .

“Aziraphale.” Lucifer was right there, a hand on her elbow, and the world restarted in normal time. “There you are. Breathe. Let me take her to your rooms, the physician has already been sent for.”

Aziraphale shook her head. She was weaker than usual from the hard year, but she could still lift Crowley up and cradle her close, her dear head rolling to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder. It was a long walk to their apartment, and her arms ached when she laid Crowley on their bed, but she was glad it had been her. That Crowley had been touched, carried, by someone who loved her, even if she didn't know she was being moved.

The castle physician, a balding, older man, appeared just moments later.

“Right then,” he said. “Let me see. Your majesty, if you'd like to wait in the sitting room. And Maestra --”

She met his gaze, and he was quiet, then nodded. “You're her wife?”

Oh – by his accent, he was Caelish, like Aziraphale. “I am,” she said quietly. “Please, I want to...be with her. Whatever it is, I want to be here.”

The physician nodded, and Lucifer gracefully withdrew while Aziraphale remembered her manners and pulled chairs over for both herself and the physician.

“She's been under some stress?” he asked, after taking her pulse.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied in Caelish. “We had a hard year – famine, I mean, and a difficult winter. She hasn't had enough to eat for some months, and then very little vegetable or fruits, even dried or canned. Her hair...her hair is falling out,” she said, stumbling over the familiar words. “And then here – it's so _cruel_. Her family is so cruel to her, it's been horrible. I'm so afraid for her.”

He had startled a little at the language, but held Aziraphale's gaze and took in her words. “Has she had any other symptoms?” Caelish as well – not that they really though Lucifer would eavesdrop but, well. It felt like finding a friend in this horrible, cold court.

“She would tremble. And, um, be moody. But the shaking spells, those were scariest,” Aziraphale said.

The physician nodded, and checked Crowley's eyes, listened to her heartbeat and her breathing, and took her pulse again.

Aziraphale sat quietly, and waited. Whatever it was, Crowley was still alive, and they'd tackle it “Honestly, she's worn out,” the physician finally said. “It's stress – she's been under too much, for too long, and her body just...gave out. She needs quiet, and rest, and peace. Good food. More rest. To not worry about anything.”

Aziraphale nodded, tears thick in her eyes. “I need to get her out of this castle. It's a long way back home...”

The physician shook his head. “No – days of travel won't help. She needs bedrest, and then only the gentlest of activity, for at least a month's time. I want to keep her nearby, keep an eye on her, in case it's more serious. Near, but not in the castle.”

Aziraphale nodded again, and breathed deep. Right. She had to take care of her Crowley, so she would. “Let us speak to the king-to-be,” she said in her calm Maestra's voice. “He can perhaps suggest...a house to rent, or something of the like. We have two servants, who tend the horses and our carriage, they must be looked after as well.”

The physician nodded, and they left – after Aziraphale gently tucked a blanket over Crowley, and settled her more comfortably in the bed. She didn't like to leave her, not for a moment, but they needed to make plans.

Lucifer immediately understood, and just as immediately knew what to do. “Two hours' ride away. I have a personal holding. It's nothing grand, but will suit you well, I think. There is lodging for Alf and John, and a good-sized village about five miles away, to supply food and drink for you.”

“Can we run it without servants?” Aziraphale asked warily. She didn't want anyone else – just herself and Crowley. “I can cook and clean and such, and do laundry if there's no one to take it in.”

“Laundry can be sent out, there's a woman in the village who handles it when I'm there,” Lucifer said. “And I...uh. I suppose so, Maestra? It's not a castle, just rather a large house.”

Aziraphale smiled, touched by his discomfort. Good, this was his fault, let the man suffer a little. “And we will have complete privacy? No relations learning of where we are?”

“ _None._ I give you my word, Maestra.”

Aziraphale simply looked at him.

“I promise you,” Lucifer said, not un-gently. “You are simply...friends from Terra. One of you fell ill, a minor infection that required rest and care, and I gave you use of my house for as long as you need it. I understand that you have minimal trust in me. But this I _can_ control.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Done. I will make my own arrangements for food and the like.”

“Of course, Maestra.” Lucifer bowed to her. “I believe you are already prepared to go? I'll make sure your coachman knows his destination. And a slightly convoluted way to get there – no time added, but if anyone follows you, you'll know.”

Aziraphale sketched a bow in return, and just barely waited for Lucifer to leave, before returning to the bedroom, the physician trailing her.

Crowley was still out cold, and she sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand. It was her bad arm, and Aziraphale gently rubbed her forearm, the injury now years old. She had taken care of Crowley then, and not done too bad a job. Of course, not as good as Crowley took care of her when she needed it – her old injury, or illness, or her bloody ankle just a few months ago – but she could manage fairly enough.

“What does she need?” she asked, gently chafing the cold hand. Crowley was so _thin_ , her face drawn even in rest. Dear God, she had failed her wife.

“Rest,” the physician said. “Bedrest to start, completely. She may not have the strength to rise, but when she feels up to it, she may sit in a chair, or go outside to sit in the sun.” He paused. “These...spells. Sometimes they steal so much strength. She may not be _able_ to stand, or walk, or use her arms and hands, not at first. But her strength will return. I believe we did not suffer famine to the extent you did, so there will be good food for her. The forests here are generous, even in early spring. Both of you need to eat and drink good, fresh water and milk and tea and the like. No wine or ale just yet, not until you're both better.”

“I'm fine,” Aziraphale said absently, leaning over to brush a stray curl off of Crowley's cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered, and Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, little love.”

“Pardon, Maestra, but you're not well either,” he said politely. “You're better off than she is, yes, but you suffered famine and stress too, and it's your wife in bed. You'll have to run the household, I understand that. But you must rest too, and be easy, and let yourself heal.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale said, and smiled when one golden eye cracked open. “Hullo, you. You're in quite a lot of trouble for scaring me so, beloved.” She stayed speaking Caelish – Crowley was perfectly fluent, and Aziraphale's mother-tongue was comforting to both of them.

“Listen to the doctor,” Crowley mumbled. “You've lost more weight than me, and you're carrying worse old injuries.”

“Never mind, I liked it better when you were unconscious,” Aziraphale said, and kissed her brow. “We're moving soon. Not far away. A little house just for us, for you to get better in.”

“Both of us,” Crowley said firmly, and opened the other eye. “Oh! Ezekiel, hello.”

The physician grinned at her. “Hello, demon. Pleased to see you developed some taste and married a Caelish girl.”

“'S the only thing I have taste about, don't worry about me,” Crowley said, and went to push herself up to sitting. Her arms had no strength though, and she quickly fell back. “Fuck.”

“I see what you mean,” Aziraphale said, startled by Crowley's weakness. “Oh, love.”

“Oh, hush. A week of your cooking and getting out of this hellhole and I'll be chasing you around the house,” Crowley said. 

“A week and a day, please,” Ezekiel said dryly. “I'm coming to check on you – both of you – next Sunday. You gave us a bit of a bloody scare there, Princess.”

“Sorry,” Crowley said, and she did look it, a bit. She also looked tired and worn down, pale and weak. Aziraphale stroked her hair again, not sure what to do for her. 

Rest, she reminded herself. Stories and good things to eat and rest. Hugs and pets, but mostly rest – Crowley might not want to be held and cuddled as much as Aziraphale wanted to hold her. But she could be a decent nursemaid, and good sleep and good food would fill any deficiencies she might have.

They found that Crowley could just make it out to the carriage under her own power if she leaned heavily on Aziraphale, and so they were off, Crowley laying her head in Aziraphale's lap as she had done at the beginning of their journey.

Aziraphale smiled down at her, and touched the tip of her nose. “Hello, love. How do you feel?”

“Awful,” Crowley admitted. “I'm so sorry, angel.”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely confused.

“For scaring you. For causing...trouble,” Crowley said quietly. “You must think me the most awful weak thing.”

“What in the name of fuck are you _talking_ about?” Aziraphale asked, moving from confused to dumbfounded in an instant. “I think you're _strong_. I'm so in love with you. You...you were so stressed and so ill you collapsed, and you were still moving through life, doing everything asked of you! Crowley, I'm the one that failed _you_.”

“What? _No_. Never think that,” Crowley demanded, a sudden blaze in her eyes, even as she grew limper in Aziraphale's lap. She had to pause and breathe deeply. “Never, ever, you have never failed me, you...you _are_ my strength, Aziraphale.”

“Oh, love.” Aziraphale moved so she was cradling Crowley truly, holding her close. “Shhh. We're both overcome. Rest now, and know you're loved, and you're safe.”

Crowley smiled, and rested her head on Aziraphale's shoulder. “I know,” she murmured, and was quiet for the rest of the journey, so still in Aziraphale's arms.

The coach pulled into a long drive, and Aziraphale relaxed at the sound of a gate closing behind them. Some advantage over a castle – they weren't on what was really public land, here. There were gates and doors that locked, and they would be safe.

It was beautiful; she'd give Lucifer that. The drive, a bit unusually, wound through attractive wooded gardens. Aziraphale would bet anything that they had been carefully landscaped and maintained, but gosh, they were beautiful, especially now with buds bursting into soft baby leaves and a smell of green and mud in the air. She could see little grottos and the like scattered about, and a beautiful gazebo that would be simply perfect to enjoy in the spring weather. It was looking to be a wonderful place to recuperate, she thought, and looked down at Crowley to see her opinion.

The dear girl – she'd fallen fast asleep in Aziraphale's arms, her face tucked into Aziraphale's shoulder and her body loose and easy. Good; it was the best thing for her.

The house itself was of a goodly size; two stories, with a balcony that showed off the skill of some woodworker. The whole house did, really – wooden lace bordered nearly every surface, and it was painted in red and blue, lovely even after the winter. Aziraphale was starting to like Annwn, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

The stables to hold the horses and carriage were off to one side, but of course Alf stopped in front of the house first. A smaller abode was by the stables, with its own pretty garden; it would make a fair place for Alf and John to live.

Aziraphale rose as John opened the carriage door, and carefully stepped out, Crowley still in her arms.

“Let me settle her, and then I'll come talk to you both, and we can make a plan,” she said. “Feed and rest the beasts, and make sure that your house is in acceptable condition. Actually, no. _Good_ condition. If there's anything you don't like, you must let me know.”

Alf smiled – grinned, really. They weren't friends exactly, but they liked each other and each carried out their duties to the other well.

He held the door to the big house for her, and Aziraphale went in. It was simple inside, the walls whitewashed, at least in the hall that stretched to the back of the house. A library opened off of one side, and a parlour off of the other. She carried Crowley upstairs and doubled back; as she had guessed, there was a vast bedroom overlooking the front of the house, with doors that opened onto the balcony, and she settled Crowley on the bed. The linens were dry but a little musty, unaired since the last time Lucifer had visited, she reckoned. Well, it would all do for the moment, and the blanket folded over the foot of the bed was soft and smelled good enough when she unfolded it over Crowley.

Crowley's eyes opened as the heavy wool settled over her, and Aziraphale smiled down at her. “Hullo, sleepyhead. Rest here, all right? I need to arrange for food and the like, and make sure Alf and John have a decent place to stay.”

Crowley nodded, turning onto her side and curling up. Aziraphale indulged herself by kissing Crowley's cheek, and taking only the quickest of explorations. There were smaller bedrooms on either side of the stairs – still grand, but she'd definitely found the best spot in the house for her wife. A bathroom stretched across the back of the house, and seemed set up to make it easy to heat water right there for the bright copper tub.

Aziraphale went down the stairs, pleased that they were broad and well-cared-for; it really wouldn't do to wind up abed herself right now. She cast a longing look towards the back of the house, but exploring could take place later, for Alf would be ready soon.

It was nice to sit on the front steps and enjoy the sun and the cool air, she thought, and smiled as she turned her face up. It wasn't even lunchtime! They had all day to settle in, and it was a beautiful house, on beautiful grounds. The perfect place for Crowley to get better.

“Hullo, Maestra!” John hailed her. “Alf's still seeing to Captain – he might have got a stone in his hoof. Our little house is grand, plenty of room for the two of us and not a pin out of place.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Brilliant – whoever looks after this place does a good job. Would you hitch Major up to a cart and go into town? We'll all need food and drink.”

“Of course, Maestra.” John blushed a little. “How, um. How is the Princess? Only, she played poker with us lot last month and, er...”

Aziraphale laughed out loud. “I hope you beat the pants off of her. And you can call her Crowley, and me Aziraphale, if you like, we're not in Annwn's court anymore. She's not well, John. I've never...known her like this,” she said, a little sadly. “She just collapsed, and she's weak. Too much stress, and not enough food and joy, I think. But she'll get better. We may be here some time – oh, bugger, I'd better write you a message to send back too,” she groaned. “And of course, if you've someone to write to, you must do so, or I can write for you.”

“I'm literate,” John assured her. “But I've got no family or anything. Alf's wife will want to hear from him, but he's not got his letters.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right – look, no one's going to die if we have to wait a bit longer for a meal. Will you help me carry our things in, and then I'll set up in the parlour. Send Alf to me, and I can write a letter for him, and to let the King and Queen know what's what. That will give us time to plan groceries and such too,” she said thoughtfully. “See what's still here.”

John grinned. “Deal. We had quite a breakfast, I'm well set for the day.”

“Until a late lunch – don't _you_ faint on me too,” Aziraphale scolded, pleased that he didn't stand on ceremony. It was a bit like having a son, without all the trouble. A nephew, perhaps.

She and John made quick work of the trunks and bags; not many of either, and Aziraphale made a note to ride to the village herself soon. They might need a few extra sets of undergarments, and she could use more silk for her embroidery and oh, if there was a bookshop...

All that for later, though. She opened her trunk, quickly found her writing desk, and settled it in the parlour before quickly exploring the kitchen. There was a flitch of bacon that was still good, and a heel of bread that was  _not_ , but she found flour and sugar and a few other cooking things, and when she tested the pump, the water ran clear and cold and tasted wonderful. She filled a pitcher and dug out a tray – all useful things.

She heard the door open and tensed, and scolded herself for doing so – no one knew they were here, and they were quite safe. Crowley's relations were assholes, but they weren't going to go out of their way to harass them either; no one was running them down, especially not out here.

Of course it was Alf, and she sat down to take his dictation to his wife, and quickly write a letter of explanation to the King and Queen of Terra. She owed Chae a letter as well, she reckoned and oh, bloody hell, she'd have to write to Asha, and probably Elsie and Chita and the rest of their tight-knit circle. Everyone would want to know what had happened, and she hoped for good letters to read to Crowley, to remind her of how she was loved and treasured and cared for.

“Right. We're just about clean out – buy anything you can, really,” she admitted, sealing the letter with her signet, and opening her purse. She had enough money to run the household all summer, and was glad of the coins she'd stashed among her things, just in case. “See if there's someone nearby who can deliver milk and butter and eggs daily, too.”

“We passed enough farms, should be easy enough to manage,” Alf said. “They didn't have it as hard here as we did.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed. “It'll do all of us good to eat well – I have flour, but get good bread too, and cakes. Anything you think looks good, really, for yourself as well as us. How are the horses for fodder?”

“Well set up, but I'll arrange to have regular deliveries,” Alf promised. “Ah – we don't have saddles, though...”

Aziraphale grinned. “I can ride bareback, or manage a wagon, Alf. I was raised on a farm, you won't scandalize me that easily. Honestly, if someone's got chickens for sale, buy a few – it's always nice to have them around.”

“Nicer to have one on my plate,” Alf said, and she laughed, unbelievably pleased with her companions.

“Can't disagree.” She handed over more than enough money, and the letters; he would see them posted. “Go well, dear.” Aziraphale sighed. “I'm not allowed ale or wine yet, but if you see something nice...”

Alf nodded, frowning. “I know why Crowley's off the drink, but you too?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It was a hard winter. And I am...not untroubled.”

“She's too cranky to stay poorly,” Alf said. “I know her like. I've known _her_ since before you did. She'll be fine.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I know – I do. Bless you. I'll likely be up in the bedroom when you return, just leave our things in the kitchen and give a holler.”

Alf nodded and she saw him off, closing the door behind him and breathing out. And, all right – smiling. She did like new places, and this was a wonderful place to explore.

Aziraphale stuck her head in the library, and was pleased to find a decent store of books, not just a place for card-playing and cigar-smoking. The parlour she already knew, a bright and pretty room with fine furniture, and some lovely paintings she would look more closely at later.

The kitchen was big, but well laid-out, the walls whitewashed here, too – it had been wood paneling for the library and blue paint in the parlour. Everything seemed clean enough, so Aziraphale added some glasses to the tray and carried it upstairs.

The big bedroom was really lovely, once she was able to look around, closing the door behind her with her hip. The walls here were painted green, and made the whole place feel a bit like a forest – helped by the simple wooden furnishings. The huge bed was pushed against one wall, a fireplace at the foot of it. Good – it was getting warmer, but if Aziraphale lit a fire, the whole wall would warm up, and be delicious to sleep next to. The bed itself was of carved wood, and very lovely, with four great posters and plenty of bolsters and pillows and the like. There was a cabinet that would serve to hold their clothes, and when she opened a window the musty smell dissipated almost immediately.

The other half of the room held a sitting area and more storage, all of it in muted greens and golds, as was the vast quilt on the bed.

And Crowley lay there, eyes opened, her own little dash of gold added to the scene.

“Sit up a moment, love, if you can?” Aziraphale asked. “I want to turn back the covers, air them out a bit. It's a wonderful house, darling – you'll love it here.”

With help, Crowley was able to rise, and Aziraphale held her with one arm and all but stripped the bed with the other, before helping Crowley lie down again. She eased her out of boots and travelling-cloak, and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand and chafing a little warmth into it. “Alf's gone to get us food – I'll whip us up some lunch when he gets back. How do you feel?”

Crowley smiled. “Very tired. I love you very much. I'm worried, though – promise me you'll rest too?”

“I promise,” Aziraphale said. “I've only got to cook for the two of us, dearest, and the rest of the time I'll be right here under your eye.” She stroked Crowley's face, the lightest fingertip touch. “I love you so much.”

Crowley smiled softly at her. “I love you too. I'm sorry. I know it's not my fault but...”

“But me no buts,” Aziraphale said, tapping her nose. “This is going to be a very nice holiday, I think. There now, do you want some water?”

She had to hold Crowley with one arm and the glass with the other, but Crowley drank deep, and nuzzled Aziraphale's shoulder. “Will you lie down with me until Alf gets back? Please?”

“Do you want me to hold you?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley nodded, so of course she settled them in bed, gently shoving Crowley over more towards the middle, and wrapping her arms around her wife. “Better?” she asked.

Crowley gave a happy little moan and snuggled close. “God, don't let go.”

“Never, ever, sweetheart,” Aziraphale murmured. “Not really. Even when I have to get up and make us food, I'll be holding you in my heart.”

“That is the most disgusting thing you've ever said,” Crowley told her, but sighed, and nestled closer. “I don't feel very good.”

“I know, demoness. But you'll have good food and a soft bed, and I'll tell you stories or read to you, or anything you like,” Aziraphale comforted her. “We can even play our little games – would you rather survive a wolf attack, or did you fall down a hole? Or simply get caught in the rain?”

Crowley smiled. “None, please. Not yet. It's...too close to real. Aziraphale, I can't...my arms are so heavy, and I can't move my legs, and that's so  _scary_ .”

“That will get better,” Aziraphale comforted her. “It's just because you're ill. I'm sorry, dearest. You just be you, and I'll just be me, and we'll love each other, hmm?”

Crowley smiled. “Yes. And take care of each other. You're tougher than I am because you had to be – you've always had to be. But you're not immortal.”

“It's not a competition to see who's toughest,” Aziraphale said. “But no, I'm not immortal. I shall sleep a great deal, and sit with you, and ease my own heart. It hurt, to see you...called the wrong name, and the like.”

“On top of the last year,” Crowley reminded her, and touched her hair. “You don't look well, angel. You're beautiful and precious, but you're ill too, and I won't let you forget it.”

“Hush now, and rest,” Aziraphale said, and kissed the top of her head, and they were soft and still, holding each other until Alf returned with provisions.

He had found a real bounty – no chickens available for raising, unfortunately, but the woman at the next farm over would bring them eggs and cream and whatever else she was making every day. There was cheese, and a chicken for each household, and good tea and coffee and  _oh_ , such lovely golden honey! The bread was heavy and black and smelled amazing, and there was good butter too, of course. And best of all – fresh spring vegetables. Fiddlehead ferns and purslane and tender lettuce, the first baby produce as the hunger gap came to an end. Aziraphale thought that she felt better just inhaling their vegetal scent.

Grateful, she sent Alf on his way and quickly organized the kitchen, touched when she saw he'd brought them a box of little cakes too. She made a quick lunch, a simple omelette with mushrooms and a tiny bit of the cheese grated on top, buttered bread, and a strong pot of tea to go with it – and a little cake each. She loaded up the tray and brought it up to Crowley, and they both feasted, savouring the rich flavours. Everything tasted amazing; they had eaten at the castle but it had been automatic, and things were still poor in Terra. The tea Alf had found had a different flavour, and Crowley closed her eyes and smiled, tasting it.

“Good memories?” Azirpahale asked softly.

“Mmm. Chae's mum used to make that for us,” she said. “We'll have to buy some to bring back with us.”

“Done and done. I need to write letters to, well, everyone,” Aziraphale admitted. “I'm sure I'll be to the village every few days.”

“If you feel well enough,” Crowley said.

“Bold words, from someone being hand-fed,” Aziraphale reminded her.

Crowley just smiled at her. “I won't be in this bed forever, lass, and then you'll have to answer to me.”

Aziraphale just laughed, and fed her a bit of bread and butter. “I don't know. Your punishments are often so very fun...”

“If you exhaust yourself, they won't be,” Crowley threatened, and Aziraphale kissed the tip of her nose.

They finished their lunch, and Crowley urged her to taste the cakes. “Bite into it – I mean, bite it in half, that's how they're eaten.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said, and bit in, and yelped in surprise as sweet jelly ran over her hand, a little burst of tart fruit and sweet sponge in her mouth. “Oh!”

Crowley laughed out loud. “I hoped that would happen! Oh, sweetheart, you look so cute,” she teased, while Aziraphale ate the other half,and licked her hand clean. “Some are probably filled with vanilla or chocolate cream, by the way, but jelly is the most fun.”

“You _would_ say that,” Aziraphale said, pretending at being grumpy. And, indeed, Crowley's was filled with a sweet, fresh pastry cream, and she ate it delicately, not spilling a bit.

Lunch done with and dishes moved out of the way, Aziraphale helped Crowley change into a nightgown – for she was still in her clothes for Mass, which seemed a hundred years ago now. They made quick work of her gown and underthings, and Aziraphale noticed that Crowley carefully didn't look down at herself – her small breasts (her flat chest, really, but Aziraphale maintained she'd made love to girls with breasts like Crowley's, and she  _had_ ), the cock lying small and soft between her thighs. She got her girl clothed as quickly as possible, and tucked under the covers and quite comfortable on soft pillows.

“Love, does anything hurt?” she asked, taking Crowley's hand in hers. 

“No, not exactly,” Crowley assured her. “I'm just...exhausted, I think. I'm still so afraid. I guess I have to un-learn that?” she asked, a little bewildered.

“Mmm. You might know you're safe, but your body doesn't,” Aziraphale said. “It's been through so much fear and stress and starvation, it's simply decided that there's nothing to be done but stop, and be taken care of.” She squeezed Crowley's hand. “Tell me if you're uncomfortable, ever.”

Crowley smiled. “I feel good right now, I promise. Thank you.” She sighed, her eyes slipping shut. “It feels weird...I couldn't walk right now if I wanted to, I can hardly lift myself...”

“Poor love,” Aziraphale murmured. “It's all right. Everything's all right now. Sleep, silly girl – it'll do you better than anything I can give you.”

“I disagree,” Crowley said, and fell asleep before Aziraphale could argue. Which, she had to admit, was pretty clever.

She sighed, and looked around the room. There was so much to  _do_ . The dishes from lunch of course, and she ought to find the spare linens and send them off to be washed so they could have fresh on their bed, and of course the rest of their laundry – Crowley was wearing her last clean nightgown. And letters to write, and the house to air out and she was so tired. She was just...tired. Her Crowley had collapsed in her arms...not that long ago, really. That morning. And now she was ill from stress and not enough to eat, and so still and weak, and Aziraphale  _had_ to be strong for both of them.

Aziraphale decided to ignore everything that needed doing. It would keep until tomorrow, and she didn't want to be far from Crowley. And she needed to keep herself functioning at least; there was no one to take care of  _both_ of them, not really.

So, instead, she went over to her trunk, and opened it, retrieving two handkerchiefs and her little sewing kit. She pulled a chair over by the bed and settled in it, appreciating the comfort. Lucifer had good taste, she'd give him that.

And with that, Aziraphale bent her head and began to make a doll.


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley woke suddenly, her eyes still closed but every nerve alight. Danger, she was in danger, her Aziraphale was in danger, it wasn't fair, she shouldn't have to put herself through this just for Crowley –

No. Soft bed, a strange one. A little bit of a smell of long winter about the sheets and heavy blankets. Her body was so _heavy_. She could feel her fingers and toes, but couldn't move her feet, nor hardly her arms. It felt like she was being pressed down onto the bed.

New smells. Spring air, leaf mould. Cool breeze. The soft, distant smell of Aziraphale's perfume, and Crowley relaxed. They were still in Annwn, but free of the castle. They were safe. This funny little house, with tea and black bread and little cakes that all tasted like when she was little, before everyone knew she was a she, when things were all right. Aziraphale was safe. She had enough to eat – they both did – and a place to rest.

Crowley opened her eyes, and smiled at the sight before her. Aziraphale sat by her bed, silhouetted in the sunlight. Her head was bent as she worked at something, clever needle going. Her gown was a little too big for her, but comfortable and well-worn, and her hair was in simple plaits; already her strong farm-girl again. She _ought_ to be in bed, but some rest was better than none, and Crowley knew that she was running their household, while Crowley herself was useless.

She licked her lips, and the motion must have been enough to draw Aziraphale's eye, for she set her sewing down and grinned. “Love! You're awake!”

A kiss, such a sweet kiss, oh it felt so good.

“Get in here with me?” Crowley asked, and that was even better, to be held and cuddled by her wife, head on Aziraphale's bosom and held in her arms. She sighed and relaxed further, heavy and easy. “Love you.”

“I love you.” Aziraphale stroked her back. “Do you want some tea?”

Crowley shook her head. “Not yet. Want you. Have you been resting? Please say yes.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Yes. You've been sleeping the last three hours or so, darling and look – I haven't even taken our dishes down to the kitchen to be washed.” She helped Crowley sit up and look over, and indeed there was the tray with the remains of their lunch.

“Good,” Crowley said, and summoned her strength, pleased to find she could get her arms around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale just laughed softly and kissed her brow. “There now – I'm not neglecting myself, sweetheart. It's a beautiful day, and it's been wonderful to just sit and work.”

“What're you making?” Crowley asked.

“You'll find out in a bit. It's a surprise.” God, being touched by Aziraphale was the best. Her arms were so soft, and she gave the best hugs.

Unexpectedly, Crowley started to cry.

“What's wrong?” Aziraphale asked, sounding...oh, God, she was _scared_. “Does something hurt, Crowley?”

Crowley shook her head, and pressed further into Aziraphale's arms. “Sorry, s-s-sorry, I just...”

“Ah, now, I shouldn't have panicked you,” Aziraphale comforted. “You just have a lot of feelings. My poor darling, you've been through so much – of course you'll need to cry a bit out. Hush, I have you,” she crooned, curling more firmly around Crowley and holding her soundly.

“I'm not made wrong,” Crowley said, in between weeping. “I'm _not_ , right?”

“Oh my God, not even a little bit,” Aziraphale murmured, rocking them now. “You are perfect. You are absolutely made right, you are the most perfect Crowley there could ever be.”

Crowley made a little sobbing sound. “I know. I don't feel wrong. None of me feels wrong or bad, not really. But by existing, I make other people hurt. It's not fair.”

“Who on earth do you hurt by existing?” Aziraphale asked. “Real question, darling.”

“You. Auntie and Uncle – they...they took me in, and they _did_ suffer for it. I know people...say things to them,” Crowley tried to explain. “And you ought to be at home, resting and with no added worries. Eating and sleeping and not taking care of me.”

“What a bloody unhappy life you're describing for me, if you're not in it,” Aziraphale said. “Love, you don't hurt us by existing. Not at all. Everyone who loves you – we choose you, over and over and over. Asha chose you, I chose you, your auntie and uncle chose to love you and shelter you. Chita chose to love you over the rest of us, frankly, you certainly get far more cuddles. Elsie chose you, and Chae chose you, and a hundred other people I'm forgetting. And the reward is we get _you_. Any problems are caused by other people, never you. Got it?”

Crowley shook her head, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Not really. But I believe you?”

“Good girl. Goodest girl.” Aziraphale kissed her softly, just for a moment. “You hurt your body and your mind. But I think you hurt your heart too. We must take good care of all the parts of you, and that means a good cry and lots of comfort and talking, I think. I choose you every single minute of every day, Crowley. I promise.”

Crowley smiled. “Even when you're threatening to defenestrate me?”

“Even then,” Aziraphale confirmed, returning the smile. “I do love you. Even when I want to whang you off a balcony.”

Crowley giggled, still crying but...lighter. Lighter inside. She wasn't bad or wrong or a mistake. She _wasn't_ , and she refused to believe she was, ever. It was still a rotten deal, that it hurt people who loved her, though.

Aziraphale cradled Crowley close, pressing kisses to her cheeks and nose and forehead and rubbing her bad arm, and generally cuddling her to within an inch of her life until the tears slowed, and finally stopped, and Crowley just lay in her arms. It was late afternoon by then, the sun beginning to set, and the last long rays of light were sweet and mellow, cast across them both.

“I love you,” Crowley said softly. “I'm so glad you're my wife.”

“Me too,” Aziraphale told her, and gently petted her hair. “Wouldn't want to be married to anyone else in the world but you. My sweetest girl.”

“How do _you_ feel?” Crowley asked, reaching for the end of Aziraphale's long plaits and playing with the little bit of curl there, pleased she had the strength to do this. “Everyone's worried about me, but you were worse off than I was before we came here.”

“I disagree. But I'm...all right,” Aziraphale said, and sighed. “I am very, very scared. I'm exhausted. I'm glad for a break. Even away from the castle – you know I can't stop working there, not really. I am...sorry for the circumstances, but honestly, Crowley, I think this will be best for _me_. All I have to do is keep house and love you, and those are both easy. I...my heart hurts. And my body. I dread what will happen the next time it rains.”

“Oh, love.” Crowley nuzzled her. “Ask the doctor to bring you a crutch or a stick or something, when he comes.” She had started to need those on her worst days over the winter, and they were beginning to know that this was Aziraphale's new normal.

“I will,” Aziraphale promised. “I don't know. I think I'll feel better after a good night's sleep. I think a week from now I'll be so much better already. But right now I feel tired and sick and sad.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Crowley said gently. They had worked a lot on this. “I'm sorry you feel poorly. I want to try to take care of you, even if all I can do is listen and kiss you when you get into range.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That's about three-quarters of what I need. I think we'll _both_ sleep a lot, darling, and eat loads. And I will take care of you to the best of my abilities.”

“Then I'll be just fine,” Crowley said, confident in her angel's healing skills. “When we're better, though – can we play at Clumsy Adorable Princess and Convenient Woodland Witch, and you be the princess?”

Aziraphale giggled. “I would like that very much. But only when you're all better, truly. Deal?”

“Deal,” Crowley said, and immediately began to plan on how she could get Aziraphale to play way, way sooner than that. They didn't really do much outside the bed, Crowley might not even need to be walking by then. She just needed a touch of stamina is all, and maybe the ability to sit on Aziraphale and make her keep still, and a be a proper pillow princess.

Supper was had early, so Aziraphale could tidy the kitchen, change into her nightgown, and finally fall into bed beside Crowley with a happy sound. “Soft...”

Crowley giggled and rolled over, pulling Aziraphale into her arms, pleased she was already stronger than that morning. She'd be all better in no time. “I love you, angel.”

“I love you too.” Aziraphale yawned, eyes already closing. “Crowley, promise me you'll be okay? You won't...leave me?”

“Oh, darling,” Crowley breathed. “No, not for decades yet. I promise, I promise. I already feel better after just half a day of your cooking and fresh air and peace. Ezekiel won't recognise me in a week.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. You scared me.”

“I'm sorry. No, shh, I am. Poor baby angel,” Crowley crooned, savouring getting to take care of Aziraphale, just a tiny bit. “There we go, nice and comfy? Good girl. Fall asleep, love.”

Aziraphale made a whiny little sound that was impossibly adorable. “Wanna _talk_ to you.”

“We can talk tomorrow,” Crowley promised. “It'll keep you resting, so we can talk for ages. Now is the time for angels to sleep, though.”

Aziraphale made a grumpy little noise, but she was also asleep inside of five minutes, so that was all right. Crowley made herself stay awake a little longer. She wanted to mark every part of this moment. The feel of Aziraphale asleep, snuggled against her, the rich darkness of a room in the countryside. The smell of the night air, damp with the coming spring, and the feel of the heavy blankets on her body. Poor old body – it had never asked for this.

Crowley closed her eyes, breathed it all in, and slept.

The next two days were sweet and easy as they all settled in. Aziraphale wrote letters to their closest beloveds, letting them know what had happened, that they were resting, that Crowley would get better. She took them into town with a load of laundry, and came back with a fresh box of the little cream- and jelly-filled cakes Crowley had tricked her with on that first day. They lay in bed together for long hours, kissing a little but mostly talking and holding one another, content to have nothing to do. It was an easy house to keep, and Aziraphale kept it neat as could be with relatively little effort, and plenty of time left for reading, knitting, or lazing in the sun.

When Crowley slept, she worked on the little rag doll. It wasn't anything terribly special; had everyone else known that Crowley was a girl, she would have been given the prettiest porcelain dolls to play with, or very fine fabric ones for cuddles at night. This, though, was what Aziraphale had been given – a simple shape out of a single handkerchief. Her head was stuffed with bits of yarn fluffed out to make wool again, and her face was simple embroidery – eyes, a line for a nose, a tiny smiling mouth. Her hair was the most difficult bit, really; Aziraphale had to quickly knit whatever yarn she had on hand and then unravel it for curls, then carefully stitch it on.

Simple ties of yarn made arms and legs and hands and feet, and a second handkerchief was quickly sewn into a simple gown, taking advantage of the embroidery along the edges to give the doll something special and pretty. When it was done, Aziraphale looked down at it ruefully.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “You're not much, are you?” She could easily cradle the little toy in both hands. It felt soft, yes, but insubstantial and floppy. Not really huggable, but it _was_ a doll, and she could sew more dresses for it if Crowley liked. At least the little embroidered face just looked peaceful and sweet, and she had avoided creepy.

Aziraphale smiled, hearing Crowley stir. It was the third day since they'd arrived, and they were well-settled in. She'd go pick up their laundry tomorrow, and another round of food most likely, and perhaps even some letters from those closest-by. Crowley was still sickly-looking: far, far too thin and a little yellowish, her eyes too big in her face. She still couldn't move anything below her waist, and her arms were weak, but she could push herself up to sitting, so that was a little victory. They both slept a great deal, and Aziraphale felt something tight in her beginning to ease. It wouldn't happen overnight, but they could both get a bit better here, in this pretty house.

She rose from the sofa and crossed the huge bedroom as Crowley was pushing herself up to sit, yawning and blinking at the sunlight. It had been quite cloudy that morning, and Aziraphale had dreaded rain – her hip and leg ached all the time now, there was no telling in her usual way – but it had cleared, and with windows open, spring was in the room.

“Afternoon, darling,” she said cheerfully, hiding the doll in a pocket and settling on the edge of the bed, leaning in to kiss Crowley. “Tea?”

“Mmm, in a bit. Kiss, please,” Crowley requested. “Again.”

Aziraphale smiled, and indulged. Neither of them wanted more than this, but oh, kisses were so nice, and she petted Crowley's thin cheek.

(There was no one else to help her with her facial hair of a morning. She had hated Aziraphale having anything to do with it their whole lives together; a servant had shaved her when she'd broken her arm those years ago. But needs must, so working quickly and silently and Crowley with eyes closed, they got through the ritual every morning. It wasn't fun, but it was better than the dysphoria of stubble or worse.)

“I have a present for you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley laughed. “Did you go into town already, angel? What is it?”

“No, love, this one I made for you.” Aziraphale withdrew the little rag doll, blushing a bit. “She's not much, but you ought to have a dolly of your own. Even if it is fifty years too late, and fit for a farm girl, not a princess.”

Crowley actually shrieked with joy, reaching out and cupping the little thing in her hands, taking her from Aziraphale. “You shut your mouth this _instant_ , Maestra. She is the perfect princess' doll. You really made her?”

Aziraphale laughed out loud. “I really made her. I can make more dresses if you like – I can't really sacrifice any more hankies, but I'll pick up a bit of fabric next time I'm in town. You'll need a few sets of lighter drawers and camisoles anyway, and perhaps a lighter dressing-gown.” They had only packed for early-spring chill, but the weather was warming quickly.

Crowley's eyes were bigger than ever. “I love her, I love her so much. No, I mean it. She's _perfect_ , Aziraphale, don't you dare say anything about who she's suited for. She's _mine_.” She hugged the little thing to her thin chest, eyes closing. “What's her name?”

“Whatever you want to call her,” Aziraphale said, unbelievably touched. “She's yours, after all.”

Crowley smiled. “Will you be mad if I call her Zira? I know you don't like nicknames.”

“I will not be mad,” Aziraphale said, giving in to indulgence. “Zira's a very pretty name, it's just not mine.”

Crowley giggled and stopped hugging the tiny doll long enough to gaze at her again, touching her wavy hair with a fingertip, and her little face, and the embroidery on the hem of her dress. “She's perfect. I really, really mean it. My first dolly. I love her. I love _you_.”

Aziraphale rubbed Crowley's leg under the bedclothes – she could feel sensation, there was simply no strength there, or perhaps her mind had given it up, trying to keep the core of her safe. “I love you too. I'll make you lots of pretty dresses for her.”

“And a nightgown,” Crowley said. “Er, please?”  
Aziraphale laughed, and promised a nightgown, and kissed Crowley's cheek. “I _am_ glad you love her. It was a fun little thing for me to work at.”

“Aziraphale, I...” Crowley shook her head, and very gently set Zira down on the pillow beside her. “Can you please hold me a moment?”

“Longer than a moment,” Aziraphale chided, settling on the bed and pulling Crowley into her arms. “If you want, of course.” They'd had to be careful with this, too – Crowley couldn't push away if she was done being hugged.

“I would like that,” Crowley said, nuzzling Aziraphale's shoulder. “I love you. Thank you. I...I can't tell you what this means. I don't...I love you, but I don't think you understand what a gift you've given me.”

“I absolutely do not,” Aziraphale agreed. “But I'm glad I gave her to you anyway. I love you very, very much, my princess. Hug?”

“Hug me _tight_ , please,” Crowley requested, and they held each other for a long time, Crowley's arms with all the strength she could muster around Aziraphale, and Aziraphale holding her close, stroking Crowley's soft, short hair.

The next day was one of many treats. The little treats of a simple life, which made Aziraphale unaccountably happy. She hitched up Major and took the wagon into the nearby village, where she collected laundry, ordered some new underthings for Crowley and lighter dressing-gowns for them both, bought a few little scraps of fabric to make doll dresses, got food for both households and – best of all – collected their first few pieces of mail. Just from those most close by, so the King and Queen, Chae, and Asha, but they were bulging, and Asha's was accompanied by a soft, well-wrapped package.

Rain was threatening, and Aziraphale limped badly, but she could make it around, just, and was honestly so happy to be running simple errands that she didn't mind having to rest a moment when walking out to the seamstress' house. The rain was holding off, and that was good enough. And Ezekiel knew to bring her a cane or a crutch just in case she needed it; she just had to make it until Sunday. Annoying, but bearable.

The countryside was really quite lovely, Aziraphale thought as she loaded up the wagon and made off for home. She let Major take his time, and nibble here and there at grass on the side of the wide dirt road. On the outskirts of the village were farms, with the great wild forests of Annwn tamed to a line of trees or a clump here and there; shelter for sheep from the rain, or a bit of privacy and windbreak, but nothing like the dense, dark swathes of evergreen that she still ached to explore. When Crowley was stronger, perhaps. If she wanted to do anything but leave this country behind forever.

She loved Annwn itself, Aziraphale reminded herself. And she was allowed back now; they could visit, stay in a nice inn, explore and eat and whatever they liked. She herself was hardly an expert speaker of the local language, but she was getting by, and learning quickly; it wasn't _so_ different from some of the other languages she knew. The land itself wasn't bad or evil. It had created the person she loved best in the whole world, after all.

The cart rolled past small farms, and a few larger ones before the road took her over a small, pretty bridge, and into the woodlands that marked the edge of their own little estate. She turned Major at the right place – although he pretty well knew it by now – and paused first in front of the big house to unload their things, then the little house to unload _their_ things, John coming out to help her.

“I'm sorry I've been so scarce,” Aziraphale apologised. “You and Alf are getting on well, I hope?”

“Of course, Aziraphale,” John said, sounding surprised. “You've not been scarce, you're taking care of that house, and the Princess. Really, don't worry about us. Please.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Promise. Right, that should set us all up for a good few days. Let me go take care of Major --”

“I'll sort him out,” John promised. “Go put your own house in order and the like.” He winked. “Enjoy fresh sheets.”

“Oh my _God_ , you have no idea,” Aziraphale groaned. “They're not bad, just...eurgh.”

John laughed and gave her a friendly little shove, which she found she – well, really rather liked. In the complicated formal system of most castles, they weren't remotely social equals for all that they were both staff. Terra was far more relaxed, but they had run in different circles of friends anyway. Here, he seemed to be playing the role of affectionate nephew to the hilt, and she _very_ much enjoyed it.

Lugging the laundry inside and up the stairs with a gammy hip wasn't Aziraphale's most favourite thing to do, but she got it done, and got the sheets on their bed and Crowley's nightgown changed before collapsing with a groan and their pile of letters, and frankly letting Crowley fret. Tea was beyond her, but a pitcher of sweet well-water was always at Crowley's bedside, and that would do.

“Here, put this under your leg, does that help?” Crowley asked anxiously. She could sit up easily now, and use her arms and hands for a few minutes at a time before she had to rest, and she'd opted to use them this time to easy Aziraphale onto pillows next to her, get her leg up in the way that sometimes helped aching muscles and supported bones and a joint that had only healed so much.

“A bit.” Aziraphale managed a smile, before closing her eyes and catching her breath. The year of famine really _had_ taken it out of her, this was ridiculous. Her arms felt like jelly and she was just...empty.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “I'm really not well.”

“No, angel. As I and everyone else have repeatedly been telling you,” Crowley said. She cuddled close, and Aziraphale got an arm around her, simply resting, letting her body be still. She was safe. She'd feel better in a little bit, and all their letters and Asha's package lay on her lap, ready to be gone through, but there was no rush.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“I'll take it out of your hide later,” Crowley promised. “When we both feel like having sex again. Sometime next year.”

Aziraphale genuinely laughed at that, and turned her head, kissing whatever was in reach and snuggling more firmly into Crowley. “I adore you so much. Someday I'll suck your cock again and it's going to be brilliant.”

“Your clit won't know what hit it,” Crowley advised, and kissed Aziraphale's forehead. “I love you. _Please_ rest, angel. Now that the chores are done and all.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I promise. I feel better already.”

They cuddled quietly for a good bit longer, and Aziraphale even drifted off for a tiny catnap, unbelievably charmed when she woke and found Zira gently placed on the pillow next to her face. Crowley had grown no less enamoured with her dolly, and little Zira was always within reach, cuddled on a lap or a pillow or sat up nearby, matching her owner.

When Aziraphale felt better, she sat up properly herself, rearranged things to better support her bad leg, and finally turned to their post. “What should I start with?”

“Auntie and Uncle, I suppose,” Crowley said. “They might genuinely have something important to tell us. Then Chae. Asha will be our treat for last.”

Aziraphale smiled. “So it shall be.”

The letter from the King and Queen was short, but no less affectionate and caring for it. They chided both women to take their ease, and made sure Aziraphale knew that she wasn't to worry about the Library or her work, but to stay until she and Crowley were hale and healthy again – both of them, was the quiet emphasis. They made precisely zero mention of Annwn or Lucifer.

“Oh good _God_ , at least give me some tea leaves to read here,” Aziraphale grumbled. “Did we start an international incident or not?”

“Which would you rather?” Crowley asked, bemused.

“Mmm. I'd be happy either way, actually,” Aziraphale admitted, and kissed Crowley's temple. “I know you didn't mean to, my poor love, but you did _rather_ bring the drama.”

“It's an inherent gift,” Crowley said, and they smiled at each other, and took a few moments to be close and to love each other, and for Aziraphale to let the memory of Crowley collapsed in her arms to fade a little more in favour of her present reality. Her wife was terribly ill, too weak to do more than sit up, but she was alive and joking and unspeakably perfect.

Chae's letter was warm and kind. He was openly worried about Crowley, which made her a bit uncomfortable and which Aziraphale approved of. He told them some of the news of the castle, and begged for regular updates on Crowley's health. There was perhaps less open affection, but that was very much his way; reading between the lines, the love was so clearly there.

“You know, _you're_ here too,” Crowley said when Aziraphale finished the letter. “He didn't even ask after you.”

“I told him how we both were in our letter to him,” Aziraphale reminded her. “I'm...hm, how do I say this. Of course Chae loves me; he's pretty much my brother-in-law, and has been for nigh on twenty years. But you are his Crowley, and a very scary thing happened to you. I don't feel forgotten or anything, or rather – I understand why he forgot about me. I'd do the same, were our positions reversed.”

Crowley scowled. “I don't like it. You're important too.”

“Of course I am,” Aziraphale said peacefully. “But not very much, not right now. _Pace_ , Crowley. He loves us both.”

“Still don't like it,” Crowley said. “What did Asha write? She'll love on you properly.”

Aziraphale laughed, and opened Asha's letter. “Well, first she says to open our presents first. You up for that?”

“Gimme,” Crowley said, wriggling her fingers, and she did easily tear into the soft little package, crying out happily at what she found. A card wound with yards of beautiful lace, motifs of blue and red and green running through the white background. “Oh, it's beautiful!” Another package lay inside, wrapped in linen, and Crowley opened that as well to find a few skeins of wonderfully soft wool, dyed pale rose-pink. She ran her fingertips over them with great pleasure, even as her hand shook and she needed to be still.

Aziraphale admired the pretties as well, and cuddled her girl close, returning to the letter.

_There_ , she read aloud,  _you have your presents for this round! My beloveds, my heart hurt when I got your letter. I know you will take care of each other, and love each other madly. I understand why you didn't want anyone to visit, and I wish you only peace and calm and healing. I will be in Annwn in a month's time though – if and only if you are well enough for me, I should like to see you both, if only for a few hours. Absolutely no offense will be taken if you don't want visitors then, of course. I only want you both to get better, to find rest and be happy._

_I love you so much. Crowley, my precious girl, you are perfect and beautiful and you are so, so loved. Never ever forget how many people love you, and that you have a place in the world. The yarn is for you, when you're a little stronger. You must knit yourself something warm and good, and every time you wear it you have to remember that I love you. Remember the nervous princess who met the Maestra? I was nervous too, and look how far we've come. I can't wait to cuddle you and kiss you again, and be hugged by you._

_My Azi. It's a special occasion, I get to call you that. Your letter broke my heart, my precious girl. How much more bad do you have to go through in your life? I'm angry at God on your behalf. You took up residence in my heart decades and decades ago, and I've never been so grateful. I adore you, my little love. My pillow princess – you must let Crowley spoil you, and you must rest. Your body is strong and sturdy, just like your mind, but it needs time. You're mortal like the rest of us, and you deserve time and space to heal. You always have, love. The next time I see you I'm going to wrap around you and not let go for hours, until I know my Azi's safe and warm and knows she's loved._

Aziraphale had to stop and wipe a few tears, smiling. “She's so silly.”

“She's so _right_. I don't know that I approve,” Crowley said, a little teary herself. “What a darling woman.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You would say so. Of course she must visit in a month – if you want?”

Crowley was quiet a moment. “Yes,” she finally said. “But only her. I don't love anyone else any less, just --”

“We know her, and she's special,” Aziraphale agreed. “And if you change your mind, she'll understand.”

“I won't,” Crowley said. “If only so there's someone to love you and take care of you for a few hours, or even a few days.”

Aziraphale smiled and shook her head, and finished the letter.  _The lace is for you, dear heart. You are to use it only for yourself, to make something you own prettier. No sharing, I forbid it. I want pretty things for my pretty girl, and for her to feel spoilt and precious. Crowley, you must tattle on her if she does otherwise._

“Oh, she _definitely_ gets to come and visit,” Crowley said gleefully. “Thank you for bringing me this perfect woman.”

“Do shut up, darling,” Aziraphale said, rather red about the face. _But there, I know my girls will be good and love each other. Write back to me when you can, and know that I love you both deeply, and can't wait to see you again – whenever that is._

_With kisses,_

_Asha_

Aziraphale smiled and touched the familiar writing. “Sweetheart.” She turned and nuzzled Crowley's shoulder, and settled with a contented sigh, yarn and lace tangling in their laps, poor Zira shoved out of the way a bit now. “I do love you.”

“Love you, angel. Rest – and tell me how the village is?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale smiled, gathered her close, and began to describe it to her.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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